my new poem “easterly winds”

Easterly winds bite hard

Driving their steel cold blades

Through the defenseless crowds

Wrapped in insufficient protection

For an assault

That the relentless blast

Easily penetrates

As the hopeful passengers

Await on a cold empty platform

For a train to better

That never comes

d.a.simpson ©

A poem of mine on winter “the gravitas of the annual ritual “

The gravitas of the annual ritual

of the changing of the seasons

Expects colours suited to the dignity

of the office of the key holder

To the gateway to the change of seasons

A dignity evidenced by the outfit

Sported by the incoming incumbent

attired from head to toe

In the sombre slate grey cloak of wintry skies

With a flash of a brilliant crisp ice-white shirt collar

Topped by a wintry snow white head of hair

Reflective of the sterile corridors of winter

Where nothing grows and nought survives

Until the extravagance

of the young ebullient spring

Bursts noisily onto the calendar

And the cool monochrome decorum of winter

Is cast off with utter abandon and joie de vivre

d.a.simpson ©

“the late autumn hesitates”

The late autumn hesitates

Before tip toeing

Closer to the cold water

As the temperature drops

Hesitates at the edge of the freezing lake

Egged on by the bare trees

Who have nowhere to hide

And nothing left to fear

Gingerly dips the very tips of its toes

Into the winter icy lake

Shudders with shock

Then shivers at the thought

Of what wintry horrors lie ahead

d.a.simpson ©

my poem “late in the evening ” that I share with you

Late in the evening

A fox barks in the distance

A sudden swirl of mist boils up

Out of nowhere

Scattering a flock of fallen leaves

Startling the hidden creatures

Of the night

Was the beast closer

Was it even a wolf

The iron fist of winter

Closes in on the year

Acceptance resolute settles

Without protest

Upon the entire scene

Like a silent overnight snowfall

Under a steel grey sky

d.a.simpson ©

‘silent subject of musings ‘ my poem on the #moon

Silent subject of musings

Of prophets and poets ancient

The moon remains an enigma

Its proportions forever unknowable

The secrets it keeps hidden from all

Will never be told for no words exist

That can tell the tales of the happenings

On the dark side of the moon

Silent witness to musings

Of prophets and poets ancient

It still rests against the celestial canopy

To witness the musings

Of the prophets and poets of today

Above the circle of the earth

d.a.simpson ©