The Year
A new poem
Here is the first poem I’ve written for a while. I’ve included it below both as an image and as text.
The Year A blank page, time’s pen hovers; nature takes us, glancing back, as still the year awakes… Out of stubborn earth, anticipation Springs like coloured fountains, weaving telling threads from greygrey clouds; life’s trees begin new rings: we gorge our dark sweet eggs and honeyed breads… While waters trickle, chuckling forest eyes watch Summer butterflies, which flutter-roam in yellow fieldscapes, under life’s vast skies: our languid laughing days, late sunsets home… When fruit-red apples fall on misty ground (a-strewn with wistful crunch-leaves), nature stills as life’s Autumnal streams all tumble round: we bonfire, scarfed against the gnawing chills… With branches stark beneath blue Wintry skies, the frozen river holds its breath, and starts life’s shiv’ring dusk, avails the year’s demise: those clearnight carols, frosts that sing our hearts… Time’s page now full of dancing - nature read its steps - but we must turn, and look ahead… (September 2025)
Most of my previous poems have been Shakespearean sonnets (I wrote about that here). That form only has three stanzas, not enough to write about the four seasons, so I decided to add an extra stanza and a couplet to introduce the whole thing, to mirror the couplet at the end (though I find couplets difficult so I didn’t thank myself for adding an extra one…)
I borrowed a couple of things from previous poems: I wrote one called Time’s Pages a few years ago, and decided there was still life in that idea, and one line was more-or-less recycled from December.
I don’t really want to say anything more about the poem: I hope it speaks for itself, for better or worse.