When Winter Really Came
A Seomra, wooden
inside and out,
with a polystyrene layer
in between,
sits at the bottom
of the garden,
dislodged from
the house
by three days
of snow.
He writes
in there,
which means
he stares out
the window
at falling flakes,
walks around
the shelves
fingering spines,
tidies and enters
mountains of
receipts accumulated over
an extended period,
repeats these rounds,
leaves for coffee,
forcing his way
through ten paces
of blizzard.
As a poet
in the making,
he follows this
programme
assiduously,
three times daily.
Poetry in very
slow motion.
Peter Clarke
Comments
Phil Lynch
23.04.2018 08:17
Nice one Peter. I am in that 'Poemra/Seomra'!
David McDonough
22.04.2018 21:24
Very evocative
Clíodhna
22.04.2018 17:41
I love this!
Latest comments
25.11 | 22:15
Grief is experience through the mundane. Simple but powerful. The accompanying image really compliments the poem.
07.11 | 11:14
Hi Peter,
A great observation! Social media can be a scary place... I also need to reduce my time there
Hugs,
John.x
06.11 | 16:24
A great one, Peter, in the context you describe. I don't read social media myself, I doubt my equilibrium could stand it. 'The balance of his mind disturbed' yes, I think it would be.
06.11 | 15:59
Yes, gossip is a weapon of mass destruction.
In my business as well as personal life I have zero tolerance.
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