POETRY

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Here's a selection of my poems for DECEMBER

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Snow in the Park - Kathleen Caddick

WINTER JASMINE The start of Winter’s tyranny came early one November day : dawn breaking to a freezing fog that wreathed and changed familiar views — the distant houses, lights and trees were drowning in a milky light. Later, sun’s restricted glow sparked icy glitter from frosted plants; rime ice, capping the fence’s rail, became more obvious to see like cobwebs — each strand ghostly white. From bare hedgerows the red hips glow beneath the ribs of barren trees, but Jasmine, on the garden’s edge, shines through the mist, its tiny suns a challenge to the coldest days and, with Mahonia’s yellow flame, brings comfort to these darkest times.
A WEEK OF FROST ( SEVEN HAIKU ) A night jewelled with stars, Bright white moonlight on cold air : A hard frost glinting. Before dawn, hoar frost Etched glass with icy flowers : Window light obscured. Cattle’s steaming breath, White against a leaden sky, The only movement. Ghostly trees hold firm To frozen berries. Birds starve And huddled, shiver. A sharp wind knifes through Bleak hedgerows, past hanging trees, Icing travellers. Iced spears of gleaming Sedge and rush hold frosted webs - Nets to catch the wind. Below windowed ice Fish, like orange logs, lie deep Sleeping : dream of Spring.
DEEP IN DARK DECEMBER Roused from fitful sleep, I hear the rain. Had it been cold enough for snow, I’d sleep, buried beneath the silence of white drifts. Instead, I picture Christmases long passed, shopping lists, unbought gifts and absent friends. Illuminated minutes take an age to measure out each increment of time; I toss and turn but still the rain persists – its steady drumming keeping me awake, breaking the spell of dreams and restful sleep. Then, wishing for the rain to turn to flakes, I picture in my mind snow fall on snow and gradually the sound of rain decreased until I dreamed of winters long ago.
CHRISTMAS SNOW Remember snow in sixty-three? A blizzard came on Boxing Day — snow lasted for a month or more. That eerie quiet and the cold of empty streets each evening time when, with a group of teenage friends, I'd tramp for miles down rutted roads. We'd heard about the frozen lake and made our way to Highnam Court to cross that water in the dark. Ignoring sounds of creaking ice — so young and brave and bullet-proof — we made it to the other side oblivious to the risks we took. This Christmas Eve I hope for snow: to wake, deep in the night, to light reflected from a new white world. With silence thick about the house, sound smothered by snow's eiderdown, I'll creep downstairs, turn on tree lights, wait joyously for Christmas dawn.
MADONNA and CHILD Star-lit villages (Middle-Eastern style); See, travellers arriving in thick snow; You may choose baubles, various kinds of bear – A run of kings or donkeyed pair to go. Here, villagers cavorting on thin ice; Inevitably robins strike a pose. Fir trees, snowmen, fat men in red coats, Cats and dogs and deer…a Christmas rose. Where are the two that we should celebrate? – Their images are from another time; Cards with their pictures became quite rare of late – Does modern man admit to the sublime?
CHRISTMAS DAY This longed for day broke bright and clear. With planned surprises all in place; he left the household to sleep on, immersed in dreams of Christmas past. The day was mild, air clean and fresh, just perfect for his morning walk; under a sky of azure blue he strode into the river park. Walking the River Cut for years, he’d watched the deer drink at the ford, the heron wading shallows there — even Egyptian Geese en paire. A movement in a bank side tree seized his attention straight away, a strange bird caught in silhouette against the Winter sun’s low rays. Intrigued to find out what it was, he moved to get a better view… Then bird flew to a lower branch bathed in sunlight’s golden hue. Transformed from shadow to full bloom — from stubby tail to hunters’ beak it shimmered orange and cyan and iridescent turquoise blue. A Kingfisher along The Cut! A visitor not seen before, a sign to mark this special day — a turquoise flash, a flame like hope.
CELEBRATIONS Christmas is the time for CELEBRATIONS — a box or tub of mini chocolate bars — treats to share in homes across the nation, ubiquitous as fairy lights and stars. They’re stacked high in every supermarket, each box or tin with eight delicious tastes… once there was a TOPIC bar – MARS stopped it, but, scoff the others, and you’ll change your waist! There’s BOUNTY, MARS, MILKY WAY and SNICKERS, two types of GALAXY and even TWIX, making up the eight are some MALTESERS — for chocoholics, such a toothsome mix! So, when you hand them round, you must beware — your favourite ones get snaffled when you share.
THE TURNING YEAR It’s time to fold this old year up for good. From here, it looks an unremitting grey but, looking closer, signs from every day are there like guides, if we just understood. Beyond the scorch marks of old arguments, passed rips and tears of illness and despair, this tapestry remains in good repair… Perhaps, for love and joy no testament — while bright days may be few, they are still there and moments of epiphany like jewels help balance out the times that were so cruel, making grey days much easier to bear. So, looking back, there is still much to cheer, ‘Though Twenty-five was not a vintage year.
Crab apples
Winter Landscape At Sunset - Anton Mauve ( 1838 - 1888 )