I wonder
Will the thunder
Come today or tomorrow
And will the rain defeat
This heat?
I wish the weather would break
And the rain
Cool my overheated brain.
For the sake
Of this dry earth and me
I desire
This fire
To cease and set me free.
I penned the below poem on 8 December 2015. The last month of 2015 was particularly mild which prompted me to reflect on climate change, hence the below composition.
December 2017 has, on the whole been rather cold (as one would expect in the depths of winter). While Christmas day itself was rather mild in my part of the UK, today (26 December) is much colder and I was glad of my coat when walking my guide dog, Trigger earlier in the morning.
“December?” can be found in my collection of poetry, “Lost In The Labyrinth Of My Mind”, which is available (ebook only) from Amazon, and as a paperback from Moyhill Publishing.
“It is too warm for December.
I remember
other years
When tears
Would freeze
And an icey breze
froze
the stinging nose.
No need for winter clothes.
The weather grows
Strange.
Something is deranged.
All, all is changed”.
I remember when the rain
Did maintain
A more or less steady beat.
Now my feet
Can not a puddle
Find, for nature is in a muddle.
And man’s distain
Will not conjure the rain.
Will Autumn come as it should
With strong winds to shake the wood?
Thus far I have found
Only a few conkers on the ground.
Most, being small
I let lie where they did fall,
But three with me now
Are sitting, far removed from mighty bough.
I wonder, will they be discovered when I am gone?
What a strange question to ponder on!
I have seen no acorns yet,
The oak’s fruit that stirs regret.
Memories of a time long since past
When I would wonder the forest vast
With my grandfather kind
Seeking acorns to find.
Autumn is here
Yet the time of year
Seems wrong.
The sun’s rays strong
Have harried the woods too long
and I, like nature am bemused
About the reason
For this confusion in the season.
It is to warm for December.
I remember
other years
When tears
Would freeze
And an icey breze
froze
the stinging nose.
No need for winter clothes.
The weather grows
Strange.
Something is deranged.
All, all is changed.
K Morris - Poet 