Winter has a purple hue,
an end of life bruise,
as the lazy blue of summer darkens.
Long nights and short days
suffocate.
Skeletal trees reach up bony fingers
touching the damp, cold air.
Decaying leaves smother the bare soil,
a wet blanket on the sleeping ground.
Worm casts litter the lawn that's
crying out for a cut and blow-dry wind.
Once loved, the abandoned pink slide
sits faded and brittle, longing to be touched,
to be climbed on and up,
to be sat on and enjoyed.
And then
reaching up out of the earth,
slender green spears of snowdrops
appear.
Bright gems of yellow jasmine
shine defiantly.
Sweet scented mahonia, the lilac of winter
catch the breeze.
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Published by poetdoesarun
I started running 16 years ago to help manage anxiety and depression and found the endorphins helped me in another way...to write my sermons for Sunday.... and then inspiration came for poetry. A Christmas present 2017 was a book by Jo Bell, challenging the reader to write a poem a week for a year. This blog showcases these and other poems composed on the run.
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