The Gathering

We’ve had some full-on weather over the past few days, and the night before last, the wind was really eerie. So I thought, why not freak everyone out a little bit more with a seriously creeeepy poem? You’re welcome.

The Gathering

The dusk hangs all jowly with menace and blood, the air
Shudders with creeping despair as the heave
Of the laden sky speaks of decline and disease
And the trees, glancing anxiously heavenwards
Whisper a prayer.

While a face at the glass
Tells the tale of a heart
That’s caressed by the fingers of fear
Deftly strumming
It’s coming
It’s coming
It’s coming
Can’t stop it
It’s coming
It’s coming
It’s coming

All at once the sky yields to the merciless press
As a death rattle rips though its chest, it relents
And the wind, too impatient for fanciful gusts
Simply ROARS. Timbers creak, while the curtain is thrust
In and out of the room with a suck like a labouring
Lung, and the carefully collated possessions we’ve gained
In our small, boxed-up years are snatched up with disdain
To be smashed on the walls of the dreams we were sold
Thinking we were the ones in control.

Then the rain comes in waves like the souls of the drowned
Streaking angrily back from the clouds, down and down
With revenge in their water-logged eyes. “HAVE A CARE!”
Scream the clattering bins and the torrents that pour
From the gutters, the walls that stand battered and sore
And the gardens that shiver as cold, laughing shadows
Wash light from their life-giving skies.

And the face at the glass
With its fevered eyes cast
To the roof of the world to which all life is clinging
Cries out, as it feels something visceral singing…
We’re coming
We’re coming
We’re coming
Can’t stop us
We’re coming
We’re coming
We’re coming

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

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Photo by SHTTEFAN on Unsplash

The Water Droplet

Out with for a walk with the boys yesterday, all three of us took utter delight in spotting icicles. (The boys also took utter delight in snapping them off and using them as weapons, but we’ll edit that bit out.)

So yesterday evening, the funniest thing happened. I came over all airy-fairy. Fear not – I made a full recovery – but not before I penned this little flight of fancy. So get your whimsical wigs on and enjoy.

The Water Droplet

Cut loose from the rigid regime
of a snowflake, I join with a stream,
flowing free – oh! just like those sweet dreams
that I dreamed when I dwelt in a swamp.
Down
I
romp,
with my soulmates bound close to my side,
What a ride! Til we joyfully slide,
with a whoop and a cry from the roof,
and
then…
Ooph.
I collide with an icicle. Please,
no, don’t freeze! I cry out – but I freeze….

I sulk. I await my release.

But then, as I hang, it occurs
to my brooding mind – things could be worse.
I’m with friends. I look good. There’s a view,
I’ve got nothing important to do,
except join in the winter display
as a sideshow to snow. And one day,
when I’m caged in an aquifer’s pore*,
or in polar ice – man, what a bore –
for millennia, possibly more…

I’ll think this was the best day of all –
When I hung from the roof looking cool.

 

*See – whimsy and A Level Geography can  be happy bedfellows…

©️Nina Parmenter 2018

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Can’t wait for the snows!

My first poetry request! Just for Bec Connock and Andy Down, a poem about winter sports. This one must have been already lurking deep within me, as within 15 minutes of the request, it tumbled into my notebook like poo from a poodle.

Now, I’m just not a fan of cold weather, adrenaline sports, wearing silly clothes or spending half my annual salary in a week, so skiing and snowboarding are definitely not my bag. But hey, if they do it for you, then happy days. However, this little rhyme is dedicated to those who take their winter sports WAY too seriously. And feel obliged to share. every. detail.

 

Can’t wait for the snows

Can’t wait for the snows! Can’t wait for the snows!
I’ll fall down a hill in ridiculous clothes!
But shall I fall down it on two planks or one?

Two sounds amazing, but one sounds such fun!

Can’t wait for the season! Can’t wait for the season!
I’ll wear fuschia pink for no obvious reason!
And hang out in bars with instructors called Lars,

Drink stupid cocktails and talk out my arse.

Can’t wait for the crashes! Can’t wait for the crashes!
I’ll post lots of pics of my bruises and bashes.
But what shall I do, shall I pop out my shoulder,

Or fall off a ski-lift and land on a boulder?

Can’t wait for the spring! Can’t wait for the spring!
You’ll think it’s all over, but NO, no such thing –
I’ve got loads of films (got a headcam, remember?)

I’ll bore you to tears up until next December.

 

©️ Nina Parmenter 2017

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