Tag Archives: #cold

A Poem for much later

This is a poem for later;

so, please don’t read it now,

it’s still hot from the Poetry Oven,

and has to cool somehow.


I’d leave it in the garden,

but the birds will peck it’s face;

and I could pop it into orbit,

it’s cold in outer space.


In the freezer there’s no room,

and frozen words are naff;

they thaw out and lose all shape,

like a circular giraffe.


No, they can cool quite slowly

at room temperature

(minus 1!)

and the poem should be ready for reading

by August when there’s sun.

A cold winter’s day

It was on a cold winters day

(not a hot winters day,

for that would be silly)

and cold and winter go together;

our winter is their summer;

their summer is our winter;

our spring is their autumn;

our autumn is their spring;

our autumn is their fall;

their fall is confusing –

that’s all I have to say

upon the matter –

anyway, back to the poem.


It was on a cold winter’s day

that I dreamt Spanish summers ¡O’le!


Was it worth the wait? 🙂

Today’s Sky

That is the sky,

and that is why

my fingers are frozen;

well, being January

rather than July

is also possibly

a reason why.

It’s a blew Monday

It’s blue,

and a Monday,

and it’s just blown in

like leaves

in a breeze,

no longer attached to trees.

A cold blue

whistling through

like a simile or a metaphor

likened to one that you have met before,

or one that is a cold blue thistle.

Feed the Birds

It’s cold outside –

which is where the birds are –

so, let us give them something to eat.


I’ve been out

around the village,

and popped seeds,

shredded nuts and suet,

in various places,

including our garden.


They seem to like

what I have left,

and that makes me happy.


Feed the birds,

and show you care,

because it’s bitterly cold out there.

Monday makes the end of the week seem so far away.


Today, I have thought upon polar expeditionaries from the early twentieth century, in their tweeds and stout walking shoes, heading off to the poles.

I’ve also thought about those sleeping rough upon the streets.

One group made a choice to seek fame in their exploits – going to the pole because it was there.

The other has ended up in a place where they would not chose to go – and there is no fame for them.

Even indoors, there is a bitter chill to the air, and the heating has been left off because of the cost.

My feet are not toasty – even with two pairs of socks on, and I am one of the lucky ones.

People become bodies, on the streets as it was upon the Antarctic, when life is withdrawn from them.

Ice underfoot

It’s cold

and icy


See, even my ex tusk hands are cold.

Outside, was what Imeant to say.

I have put out food for the birds,

and fresh water, too.

Holding off on walking the dogs,

until the ice has thawed a bit, or two.

The Sun fooled me, today (Siberian Breeze)

The Sun fooled me, today;

I went out in a T-shirt,

as if it was half-past May;

but, there was a bitter wind

coming across from old Siberia way,

and I began to freeze—


singing: Siberian Breeze,

Siberian Breeze,

cold as ice,

and I’m likely to freeze,

should have wrapped up well,

and as far as I can tell,

I’m freezing my wotsits off

in this Siberian Breeze.

Bloomin’ Cold

I don’t envy the flowers,

thinking that Spring is almost here;

they pop their little heads out,

and think they’ve nothing to fear;

but, it’s too early to sunbathe,

Winter hasn’t yet gone;

and how can it be a Summer

if, on one day, the Sun, it shone.


Keep your warmest clothes on,

keep out of the cold Easterly breeze,

and shelter for the moment,

it’s much too soon, ‘You’ll freeze!’

On a Saturday Morning

People walking,

people cycling,

people walking dogs –

no dogs cycling;

people driving,

delivering, thriving


people taking the air

here, there, everywhere;

it’s cool, it’s cold,

some young, some old

some in between –

if you know what I mean;

breeze is fresh upon my face,

I have to set an eager pace,

to warm my soul,

keep my body whole.