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Between Christmas & New Year

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The  frost is caught in cob webs 
Clung along the hedgerows,
The year is strung between
Christmas and New year and
I'm lumbering back to work,
With a clog of dead leaves
Beneath my boots.
The horses stand upright in the mist
Soundlessly watching me pass,
Long heads reaching outwards
Like something lost at sea.
Somewhere someone is 
Building a bonfire of leaves,
Trying to get an early start 
At closing the book,
But there is no way
To leap over this year of death,
The rotting skeletons
Have fettered the whole street,
Glutted the curbs
And sealed the drains,
Like torn out pages
Of yesterday's diary.
While the sky stays stone grey 
And the snow still won't come.
 
 
 
 

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Comments

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Thu 1st Sep 2011 20:54

Excellent poem, worth rereading many times for its beauty of images and atmosphere. I agree that the 'horses' scene is outstanding.

Philipos

Wed 31st Aug 2011 22:35

I liked this being immediately hooked on 'The frost is caught in cob webs' which is one of my favourite scenes. I thought the rest read well also.

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Harry O'Neill

Wed 31st Aug 2011 22:11


Excellent evocation.

it`s only me, but I think it would have been perfect if, `This year of death` would have read `The death of the year`

...Nice poem.

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Ann Foxglove

Mon 29th Aug 2011 19:40

Love the way you've captured this dull no-mans-land period of time. I keep coming back to the phrase about the horses heads - never thought of it that way. I like that, hearing something described in a really new way.

"Long heads reaching outwards
Like something lost at sea."

And the last line, loaded with tension.

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