Thursday, 5 February 2009

Snow.

Stealthily, like a thief in the night,
it came down and stole
the colour from our landscape.
We awoke to black and white and
all shades in between.
When it went,
leaving, as it came, by the back door,
we awoke to green.
Like flying into London
from Siberia;
the white landscape
miraculously green.
Then things began to grow
as though it had never been.

22 comments:

Sepiru Chris said...

I really like the idea that, stealthily,
it came down and stole
the colour from our landscape.

Sepiru Chris said...

your landscape. sorry

jinksy said...

Loved the words - but now I'm going to be a pain in the butt... could you change the last word so the green-been thing goes away? It makes a double take - the eye kind of zooms backward and forward to the accidental rhyme? Just a thought , and you can always tell me to shut up! xxx

Derrick said...

Hello Weaver,

Your poem is great and most appropriate! We are just about to go out and try to negotiate our white world. Finger crossed!

The Weaver of Grass said...

Thanks Chris

The Weaver of Grass said...

Thanks Jinksy. I never mind criticism of my poetry - will be interesting to see what others say (if anything). I certainly will try other words. If we don't accept criticism then we are never going to improve. I really was trying to get rhyme here and there - but maybe I have overdone it. If I think of a different TTlast two lines I will change it. Thanks.

The Weaver of Grass said...

I don't try to negotiate Derrick - I just wait until it has gone - a tractor is always a better method of transport this weather, so the farmer does the running about. Good luck. It has been snowing here lightly all morning, but now the sun is out and in the sun it is quite warm - different matter in the shade.

Elizabeth said...

Beautiful poem.
Do you know 'London Snow' by, I think, Robert Bridges?
A wonderful poem by an otherwise overlooked 'Georgian' poet.
The photo of the farmer with the sheep is so heartwarming somehow.

Elizabeth said...

ps. been and green OK in my book!

Raph G. Neckmann said...

I love the poem, Weaver - it conveys that swift silent appearance and disappearance of the snow.

Our sturdy little snowdrops are poking through the melting snow now - exactly as though it had never been!

willow said...

I like the line "flying into London from Siberia". :)

Annie Wicking said...

What wonderful words...

Best wishes always,

Annie

Heather said...

I love your poem. It astounds me how snow muffles all sound, even here in a built up area with roads and other houses all around. If we couldn't see the snow, we'd know it was there because of the silence - until the children come out to play in it! We woke up to twice as much this morning, but it has thawed steadily all day and now looks dirty and tatty. Gone is this mornings pristine loveliness.

Crafty Green Poet said...

it always is stealthy isn't it?

Dragonstar said...

I like that. It's just the way snow behaves.

ELAINE ERIG said...

We awoke to black and white and
all shades in between.
When it went ,
leaving,as it came,by the back door
we awoke to green.

For me don´t need nothing more...,this part is a great poem by himself ,remains me the ideia of see things in black and white by MAX BECKMAN.

(we are connected because we love cats)

willow said...

Okay, Ms. Weaver, I am passing the letter "v" on to you for the letter game. Have fun!! :)

The Weaver of Grass said...

Thanks Jinksy for the suggestion and thanks Elaine for the shortened version - you may both be right. I really wanted to leave the line about Siberia and London in because i have made that flight in January and we left Siberia in minus thirty and very deep snow and freezing fog - slept most of the way home and awoke to find ourselves flying over an intensely green English countryside - the transformation was amazing. But thanks for the suggestions.

Janice Thomson said...

Neat poem Weaver - you have captured the essence of snow perfectly. Love this.

Woman in a Window said...

OH, I wish it were possible here. We'd need at least a week of mornings. Hardly miraculous!

BT said...

Super poem Weaver. I am always amazed at how snow dampens the sound outside. I have just come back from Suffolk and we had lots of snow there. Built a huge snowman too!

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