January Mist.

Winter-dead trees hold shadows of birds.

And footfall is hushed where fallen leaves lie.

Along the river bank, grey mists coil

Encircling all life in a dampening embrace.

Bark brittle boughs lift imploring hands

Towards the lowering sky.

Silence lives within it's pall

For the song of life, the mist's forestall.

The air itself, all movement stilled,

And time is held at bay.

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Starward's picture

This one really caught my eye

Are you familiar with the poems of James Wright?  Jared Carter?  John Knoepfle?  (Just a coincidence that the first names all start, like mine, with "J".)  This poem reminds me very much of the best of their work.


sweetwater's picture

Hi, sadly no I am not, but I

Hi, sadly no I am not, but I will look them up.  Coincidently the poem also starts with a 'J'.  Thank you for such a lovely comment. :-)  sweetwater x.