A Poem for Winter Misery...

Yes, it is the time for winter misery, and so here is a poem I just wrote about that. I may change the ending if my mood gets better.

Winter

What a cruel caul is winter,
dark charcoal clouds
clustering over the long view
of the wetlands.
The trumpeter swans dip and slurp,
moving like dreams of Avalon
on the hemetite water.
Though trees and shrubs
make optimistic buds,
you and I, with our tea cups
steaming in our talons,
look over our shoulders
at the rush and gnash
of the ghost wind.
Our calendars tell us
that time will cure, with the
lift of daffodils and the swoop
of nesting swallows.
Our chillblained hearts
tell us this winter day
will be forever.

Molly Swan-Sheeran copyright 2008

I bet you can tell we are not into winter sports? Ha.
I ordered more alexandrite and peridot. And more heavy silver wire.

This Dappled Morning

The far field

dazzles with the hawkweed,

yellow, festive,

and the sheep

has eaten all the

tasty blossoms around her.

Shadows of swallows

slide over the long grass

golden beneath the rowan

whose berries swell in

crimson clusters on the bough.

I feel as solitary

and prickly as a thistle,

this dappled morning,

as I lean on the cold iron of the anvil.

The bronze knitting needles I have made

are golden bright from the rouge,

and lie on the work bench

waiting to be sent

all over the planet.

I can see them go

like the many shadows of birds

flying out, away,

to land in a pair of hands.

Hands that will draw to them yarn,

like the wool of my sheep,

distilled from a field of yellow flowers.

Hands that will draw to them patterns,

like the rowan now growing,

its grey branches knitted to the blue of the sky,

its berries, red within green,

celebrating magic, utility, motion, and beauty.

Molly Swan-Sheeran copyright 2007

Read more of my poems? http://celticswan.com/poems.htm