Winter’s not gone yet, if the wild geese chatter.

05300

The hollow cheeks of winter scantily cover
the skeletal lantern jaw of spring; bones
bleached white by receding frost are free
to begin their stiff rattle for warmth
and to generate the spirits who come armed
with bare bodkins. Spindled fingers, barer
than the twigs, mesmerise waves of air;
cajoling it, shaping it –
sieving from it whiter ghosts whose jangling,
laden necklaces jump up and down
to distract nature while they attempt to mix
together taboos with pestle and mortar
made from the wood of hardy grapevines –
its pounding fists crush green snakes with albino
to sedate her lust for colourful concoctions.

Meanwhile, the elixir created for the belly
of spring is fed intravenously – nature’s essential
essence and innate disposition doesn’t allow
for winter’s voodoo to dance past its time to rest
and it calls sap to rise, but not before
veins of ochre pump the hesitant glimmers
of warm sun to feed feathers on new growth –
the fair down worn by earthy women – dancing
to death storms under foot – mulching in croaking
remnants of damp and decomposing cloth.

The gaseous canary sings louder, happily shifting
its weight until coldness is gone
and its old clothes are discarded for new
they are tossed into the fire; smells
from warmed bones meet a sky heavy
with murmuring, and amber sparks
hanging from its underbelly cling like
new born kittens from snagged cotton
waiting for a cushion – as time waits for new flesh
to stick to spring’s ribs. And, like the certainty
of kisses, sweet and plenty, winter’s stuff
will not endure the warm rains of its graven image
burning in effigy –
springtime’s triumphant rebirth
is the flame of winter falling as golden daffodils.

*Title partially nicked from King Lear.

Author: Anita Lubesh

I write poetry/prose/stories/short stories/verses for children/sketch/and have 6 chapters of a novel sitting there like that half eaten trifle in the fridge or bottle of Jack Daniels because something makes you afraid to eat it or drink... right now.. I am a proud Geordie from England's northern hemisphere and the beautiful city of Newcastle upon Tyne. I live with my lovely husband who came all the way from sunny California just for me, and my favourite animal, Bobble, our dog. I am a member of Greenpeace and Friends of the Earth and wish we could all do more, especially today, when such a lot is wrong.

17 thoughts on “Winter’s not gone yet, if the wild geese chatter.”

  1. The hollow cheeks of winter scantily cover
    the skeletal lantern jaw of spring; bones
    bleached white by receding frost are free
    to begin their stiff rattle for warmth
    and to generate the spirits who come armed
    with bare bodkins. – What a fantastic opening, so vivid.

    And you always manage to keep the intensity and detailing going, like kittens seperated from cotton for example.
    Great writing Anita, you amaze me once more ☺

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Every winter at the beginning, I look at spring and it’s so far away….but your poem reminds us to just watch the seasons turn, and let them be. This is a beautiful and expressive poem.

    “springtime’s triumphant re birth
    is the flame of winter falling as golden daffodils.

    yes…..exactly.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Sounds interesting but ah, well, think of sun and pink flamingos or peacocks and alcoholic cold tea…the grass will be greener and maybe the fall lol. Ok I am tired. But with pictures and memories and writing you can always re create…and the grass will be greener …keep thinking that.

        Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

refugeenotes

About my life and everything else 🙌 Inst:@nihilnove

my life as a piece of string

... from a silent space

Letters on my Heart

The Broken Cannot Rise Alone...

Discarded Recollections

A Repository of Discarded Poetry, Story Prompts, and Memories

Lluís Bussé

Barcelona's Multiverse | Art | Culture | Science

The Lonely Author

Pain goes in, love comes out.

Light Touch

Just wondering at the miracle called LIFE .

The Stories In Between

Author River Dixon

Wezzlehead

poetry by Robert Ford

Rachana Trp.

Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. Nothing can be done without hope and confidence.

Story Of The Footloose

In the end all you want is a pen that writes well and a life that you've lived well.

Megha's World

A potpourri of emotions

pouringtruth

Poetry and words

The Bouquet Gallery

A collection of beautiful things and thoughts

Stuff and what if...

Exploring writing and the creative randomness of life. Snapshots of moments.

Just Brian

"Not all who wander are lost..."

newtoneapblog

A Discarded Plant

A Cornered Gurl

I am more than breath & bones.

MY VALIANT SOUL

My poetry is my religion.

A Blooming Scribe

Poetry, short essays and other work showcased by a Scientist, Philosopher, and Adventurer. Posts on Monday and First Fridays.

Everyday Strange

Dark Writing and Strange Inspirations

The Words of Akunda

The Little Poetastry; The little stories

The Broad Spectrum Life

Exploring Rhymes, Reasons, and Nuances of Our World

Elan Mudrow

Smidgens

David Redpath

We're all on a road to somewhere.

Seductive Darkness

Provocative poetry and musings on life

The Renegade Press

Tales from the mouth of a wolf

MYMonkey MIND

Your Brain is a Radio that Does What its Told

SentientVoice

Encouraging animal advocacy and compassion

Mark Deeble

A wildlife filmmaker in Africa

LOU RASMUS

big book guy

vividlyfoxxy

Just another WordPress.com site

Hearing The Mermaids Sing

At Least Trying Too

michnavs

Poetry by Mich

Frank Solanki

If you want to be a hero well just follow me

ALEX MARKOVICH ART

MarkovichUniverse AT gmail DOT com

%d bloggers like this: