Three Winter poems...

black dog

the black dog growls
raises his head in my direction
I stare back with baleful eye
some visitors are more welcome
than others

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when

when the hound
makes a meal of hope
collect the crumbs
create a new dish
to feed the soul

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gunmetal days

these grey-gunmetal days
washed by winter rain
which tinge old-man’s-beard
a luminescent green

when wind-whipped snow
piles high against the verge
and bare trees glitter
with a frosty rime

this time of chill damp
which seeps into the bones
wind moans through cracks
or howls against the stones

while I, in semi-hibernation,
yearn for spring’s elation,
will not then mourn the passing
of gunmetal days

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