foul waters run
through cobbles like
tears on stony
lie like fog ink
in the footprints
of the devil’s half acre,
glutted with the browns
of swollen January.
the river dreams of escape.
seabirds cry grey laments,
the beating of their winterwings
stirring blighted hope
as they careen homeward, away,
for the first time,
to walk the water-paths
12 thoughts on “The Slip, deep winter”
A well captured scene nicely done, can feel the fear there at the end.
thanks, Pat. (wish i could think of something that rhymes here but i haven’t had much coffee yet) 🙂
whew…you set a nice tone to this to set up that last line making me look to the shadows to make sure there is no one there…see you friday!
thanks, brian; yeah, so don’t go strolling down any dark alleys alone when you get here. 😉 can’t wait to see you!
whew tight…esp. the second stanza gaves me chills and sets the tune for a great closure..
grazie, claudia. “chills” is about the tone i was going for…
in the fears, we find strength..don’t ask me how or why, but it happens..
much enjoyed this Joanne!
true enough, lynne! although in this case, a little caution also can be a thing of strength, i think. appreciate your dropping by!
‘canal shadows’ ‘like fog ink’…. looming… some great word choices here Siubhan. Something about canals…..
Awesome word painting here! Very vivid and the last lines make it personal!
a strong and vivid write. I really enjoyed this and am thinking now about ‘weather paths.’
Cold, in so many ways. V.nice, my friend.