Something Wickedly …

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Something Wickedly White This Way Cometh!

14th November 2010 – 22nd January 2011

Frozen Beauty to Misery

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1

Winters’ Contrast

Crystal, the sky now is crystal blue,
Paleness created in reflection,
From icily covered grounds true,
Open window viewing is perfection,
Crisp airs filling up my lungs,
Pulling me short of warm breath,
Looking out upon this brilliant horizon,
At Mother Nature’s wintry death,

‘Tis hard to be cynical at such beauty,
Despite knowing as l do,
Its presence creates so much cruelty,
Upon the wildlife, many who will not see it through,
Sky can change so quickly before one’s eyes,
Within the merest of a blink,
Palest blue is suddenly disguised,
Into a shimmering of diluted pinks,

And from there as you watch again,
Changes it does, warning you now of doom,
Frighteningly the deepest of salmon,
Alerting you to an approaching snow storm,
Natures’ palette can change within hours,
True artistry disfiguring up above,
Myriad of colours blending in power,
Strokes of an invisible brush,

A touch of winter to be seen this day,
Dying pink, salmon and crimson hues,
Soundlessly driven away,
Replaced with dark greys and angry blues,
Within seconds they too, are no more,
Silver streaking clouds rush upon the edge,
And an eerie lighting ready to devour,
Has crept in silently like a rough sketch,

Darkened greyish black clouds gather,
Colours of beauty no longer before your eyes,
Skies above waiting to pounce like a panther,
Upon the grounds below with a hint of despise,
From crystal blue to aggressive blackened grey,
With beauty now a thing of the today’s past,
All this within a few hours of this cold, cold day,
So many changes, such is the way of winters’ contrast.

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2

Winters’ Heartbeat

Something white this way comes,
Dance she will under our feet,
And from her beauty we will succumb,
Can do nothing but fear winters’ heartbeat!

Falling snows are oft seen as romantic,
Soft glistening dusting storms,
Others again, see it as dramatic,
Whereas l view it as true art form,
Expressing its inner emotion,
Like romantics sharing new love,
Temperaments swirling in slow motion,
Settling upon lands like a silken glove,

Layers upon layers of fine flakes,
Greeting morning viewers to beauty,
Sprawling barren landscapes,
Misty and eerily and starkly moody,
Aching passions adorning bareness,
Dreamlike branches and boughs,
Snowy feelings making more look less,
Nature’s way of promising the vow,

A love story in early blossom,
Blinding fiercely at first,
Sexually charged and awesome,
Hunger quenching thirst,
Touch that burns to the soul,
Painfully caressing naked flesh,
Embracing all until whole,
Delightfully embellished!

If this is not an art, what is it then?
Such tranquil beauty upon first light,
Every fall, never the same again,
Try to recreate l might,
But this romanticism is pure,
Untouchable, love at first sight,
Desiring as l do, sense the allure,
Imagination alights!

Could one ever wish for this,
Moments in time of such beauty,
Such happiness and bliss,
Not to be for all of us truly,
But if love could be like fresh snow,
Without torment, nor disturbance,
Could it stay profound or sadly go?
Oh to dream of the non-stop dance!

When nature smiles upon our earth,
In such a way as this,
Should lovers anew not seek birth?
And chase after the happiness?
Why question the beauty of the fall,
Perhaps just admire from afar,
Walk within it, cloak and shawl,
Enjoying it before you say au revoir!

Staring in awe at raw isolation,
White skies, white lands just white,
Loving moments in times’ desolation,
Awarded to us from the night,
Pinpricked by blood red droplets,
Of shaken hawthorns by robins in search,
Like us, for something but not upset,
Just perhaps a dry perch,

Something white this way comes,
Dance she will under our feet,
And from her beauty we will succumb,
Can do nothing but fear winters’ heartbeat!

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3

Within Winters’ Grasp

Another freezing day l awaken to,
Dry bedding damp to the touch,
Cold air lingering anew,
No difference not by much,
To yesterday, last night or day before,
All days run as one now,
Each one a misery chore,
Just another excuse to wear a scowl,

Wintry snows, ice and the freezing,
Has an ill effect upon ones’ soul,
Similar to a deathly teasing,
And is a slow deprivation to being whole,
To many others it is a romantic ideal,
Freshly sewn snows upon musty ground,
Lovers of its splendour greet it with zeal.
Picturesque postcard scenery abound,

Easier for those living in comfort,
To admire with fascination its presence,
Greet it eagerly with a view to sport,
Playing, snowmen, sledging abandoning sense,
Undertaking in its icy pleasures,
Enjoying snowbound holidays,
Snowballing their way into a day’s leisure,
Children off school again – ‘Hooray!’

See not the anger within its hidden depth,
Or the perils that lie within the folly,
Frozen wastelands covered in icy breath,
Nor realizing that not all are jolly,
At this hardened icily covered beast,
Knowing too well through experience,
And eagerly awaiting its release,
Upon grounds screaming under its presence!

Living within the daily routine,
Of frozen lands upon the Shire fens,
I no longer pretend it is serene,
Just get up, get along and get finished again,
Wishing for other mundane weather clasps,
To appear upon the frozen horizon,
And releasing me from the winters’ grasp.

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Living in the caravan was hard, much harder than l ever thought it would be, but how would l have known? Perhaps l should not have been so naïve, but then, one man with two dogs in tow, nowhere to live, very little money – there wasn’t a lot of choices. As they say ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger!’ I would come to use that phrase a lot during my nearly four years living in the Lincolnshire Fens where l only had 3″ of divide between myself and the external elements.

I remember this winter quite significantly from others during my life, l remember the time this spell of misery started, the time the snows started to fall to the time when the cold started to ease off…

For just over two months l endured temperatures many a time much colder inside the metal box to outside of between -11 to – 15’s. When we had drifts all over the fields, of the caravan many a time resembling an actual igloo with very similar amenities. On the 27th November l lost all water, all pipes were frozen solid, l had no shower facilities and what l had to do, was use ice cold water from the stables and a plastic jug. I would boil one jug of water and wash once every three days.

It was a really horrible time!

To make matters worse, my landlords were nasty greedy people who needed evisceration, refused to repair the broken front door to caravan, a repair l had been waiting for since late summer, so any heat l had escaped nightly. My bed linen was damp most days, the windows frozen inside and out and were constantly opaque … it was the hardest winter that year from 2010 – 2011, and one that stories are made from!

The hard snows started to fall early that winter, the first poem was written on Sunday 14th at 2.30pm …. so innocently at first, even beautifully as the flakes danced on the day …

From 2.30pm that afternoon, the snows fell and continued to fall all afternoon and into the dusk and into the night …..

The blizzards started at 5.00pm, the temperature was dropping fast, the horses had to be double-rugged up, tacked up. The stables had to be made ready for the long night, l was to be on call all night, the chill factor rose significantly. The cold had a way of seeping into you, no matter how many layers l was wearing and for that particular winter l lived each day every day in 8 layers, still l felt the numbing cold. In fact it would not be warm  for many years after l left that dreadful place and eventually l could handle the cold again, l had a form of permanent frost bite according to the medical profession, a sort of continuous psychological impression left in my mind. I always said it was because of the winter of 2010/2011.

In addition to the horses l was responsible for their dogs, l had to ensure they were locked up safely for the night, as well as tend to my own. I had an indoor dog and one who lived outside. I spent most nights rushing out to her shed making sure she was warm, and filling her kennel with hay and cardboard, in truth l think out of the three of us, she was quite possibly the warmest!

The second poem was written on the 17th November, the snow had not relented in the fall, the blizzard was almost daily, drifts of snow were building up, shopping deliveries couldn’t even get through to where l was, l had crackers, coffee and tobacco, luckily my dogs had tripe and plenty of kibble!

I tried to keep positive all the way through this period and my writing kept me going …

The problem with the cold, especially the biting cold, when you are tired, and almost broken, is that it totally demoralises you. The living conditions were appalling and in truth, whilst l was accustomed to winters, l had never experienced one of this nature before, this cold, this long … but admittedly never before had l shared a winter with Mother Nature living in a caravan with less than basic amenities!

The third poem was written on the 27th November 2011.

All images are from Pixabay as sadly the cold damaged my hard drive and l lost a serious amount of my stored life during that period.

Guy or Bloke, Your Choice

 

 

10 thoughts on “Something Wickedly …

Add yours

  1. What beautiful poems to come out of such a challenging experience. Snow looks lovely when you can retreat to a warm place but the elements are unkind to those in an exposed position. Old caravans were not made for these conditions. It must have felt like the Antarctic.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. It was awful in truth, but a valuable lesson learned. The chain reaction was literally the cold inside l felt for years afterwards. I left there is October 2012, but was not able to mindfully feel warm until l guess 14 months ago.

      Liked by 2 people

    1. Hey Beckie, it’s something l wouldn’t wish on many people. There are a few, notably the landlords themselves, who had me constantly at the end of their beck and call fetching logs for their fire from the wood shed outside the back of their house. it made me laugh, a five minute walk from the little warmth l had to literally the back of their fully heated seven bedroomed house by their back French sliding doors.

      Mm, just the memory of that and a shudder runs through my mind.

      Liked by 2 people

  2. Lovely poems Rory, I know how you felt I’ve gone throw many a winter’s with inadoqwite clothing and living in a place were the heat is gone by the time the sun sets and you spend the night freezing, I’m glad you don’t have to go throw that anymore. ❤️✌️

    BY FOR NOW

    Liked by 1 person

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