Tuesday, January 08, 2008

The Still Season

The Still Season

Silhouetted by the last cold light,
the stubble of trees on distant
double chins of hill
and nearer, branches flung
wide and bare
like casualties of war.

Everything waits-
it is the still season- the knots
of frozen schoolkids,
the traffic crawling homewards,
even the sun, pale and hesitant.
The world is in abeyance.

Behind our tinsel and bulbs
we peer at the night,
stark and silver in fields
and corners beyond street light,
and fear easy, endless magic
when the year dies.


Frances said...

I particularly like the image of the branches being casualties of war. This poem really captures the stillness of a cold winter night. Thanks for posting it.

Tom Donald said...

The weak point "like casualities of war", a simile focussing on a cliché. And the suggestion of desperate violence suggests a storm not otherwise referenced.
GREAT ending.