Another cold morning


Dim light


grey as dusk swims

a cold ocean

over frosted grass.

Lemon yellow sun hides

among the groves of the south

where butter wouldn’t melt

and the geese sing loud.

Hard earth yields little

but hoofed away the fallen leaves

acorns sit fat as pigs.

Squabbling over scraps

songbirds flit

bright shards

of the broken jar that was summer,

the mirror of spring.



The promised sun is swept away

and hid beneath the carpet

thick and dank

of cloud.

North wind wails

and gibbers tales

of wolves and whales

where ice floes ply

to and fro.

Magpies strut in penguin suits

through grass that ripples

cold as the sea,

slick and shiny

like new toys

switched on

for some monstrous

Christmas morning

to show the world

that jubilation

is in a scratched worm.