January Poem

 January Poem

The days are short,

the Sun a spark

hung thin between

the dark and dark.

Fat snowy footsteps 

track the floor,

and parkas pile up

near the door.

The river is 

a frozen place

held still beneath

the trees' black lace

The sky is low.

The wind is gray.

The radiator

purrs all day.

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Plus, an extra poem!

Freedom Poem

A decade ago, my mum found this anonymous poem on a handwritten scrap of paper in the street and was so smitten with it that she decided to share it with her only daughter. Needless to say I still keep it in one of my scrapbooks... and that I decided that sooner or later I would share it with my whole readership, right?

FREEDOM
Freedom is a white snowflake
made of pure feelings of crystal.
The truthful song of a great god,
the love of a mother, the eyes of her child.
Freedom is a far palace
growing --- up in the sky:
a little - a very little angel -

a great big light in the stars.