Hands out of pockets
walk no more than two abreast;
it wouldn’t wash now.
by Scooj
Composed while walking to work on a very chilly morning and feeling uncomfortable putting my hands in my pockets, because of the school rules imposed/imprinted on me at a young age.
.
Chilly morn, clear, crisp
trees cast long slender shadows
and I am alive.
.
by Scooj
After days of warmth
a chilly north wind reclaims
Winter’s legacy.
by Scooj
A cold sea breeze drifts
landwards. Not enough to halt
Spring’s warming advance.
by Scooj
.
Winter’s last stand;
cloudy vapours tumble out
on exhalation.
by Scooj
February days
fill body and mind with a
dark grey foreboding.
by Scooj
From the souls of my
shoes, deathly cold rises through
my tired old body.
by Scooj
.
Standing in cold car
parks, shivering and choosing
which cars to test drive.
.
by Scooj
.
Dappled sunlight gives
Little warmth and trees little
Shelter from cold winds.
.
by Scooj
Jack came back last night,
his ice grip suffocating
Eostre’s late tenure.
by Scooj
Bugger – original version had a goofy syllable count. I have edited it now, but it doesn’t flow as well.
