Tuesday, 12 December 2017

The Worst is Not Over!

Roadworks continue – in the snow
Slush and piles of bricks lie low
Scattered bin bags in huge drift
We're stranded, cold without a lift...

You'd think we'd not seen snow before!
We're caught out, helpless, on the raw.
STIB's buses vanish without trace
Sparse tracks dissect the frozen waste.

Beware all tunnels – they are closed
Delays add to commuter woes
Some trucks keel over on their side
But skiiers have an easy ride.

Dripping roofs today - with sleet
An annoying wind and chilly feet
But tread with care - the sun is low
Black ice threatens – take it slow!

(c) Poet in the woods 2017

Monday, 11 December 2017

Snowed In!

Snow crystals, snowflakes - thick snowstorm,
Snow shoes, snow ploughs, early dawn
Pristine roads, cars buried deep
We're blanketed while fast asleep.

Tall, febrile pine trees flecked with frost
A touch of Christmas – at no cost!
Red-tiled houses whited out
Winter's touch is all about!

These whirls and flurries patterns make
Like icing on a wedding cake
Trees outlined in Indian ink
A morphing puddle - an ice rink ...

Snow sprinkles last week turned to slush
A premonition warning us
Of the blizzard yet to come
A weekend wonderland for some.

Chaos on the rush hour roads
Weather website overloads
Dame Nature sleeps but is not dead
Look! Swooping birds fly overhead!

(c) Poet in the woods 2017

Saturday, 9 December 2017

What will Santa bring Thomas?

His playgroup sports a Christmas Tree
A festive touch that all can see
A gift in hand, perched on a chair
Thomas has a bemused stare.

With a «Ho! Ho!» hood upon his head
Too young to grow a beard, instead
It's commerce more than Faith that trends
Oz tackiness of Christmas spends!

But a greater gift is now in store
Not in a stable born on straw
But a baby sister on her way
Who might appear – on Christmas Day!

Though apple of his parents' eye
Thomas soon must needs stand by
I wonder how this guy will feel
When he sees the baby's crib for real?

(c) Poet in the woods 2017

Thursday, 7 December 2017

On a Dark Morning

Daylight stolen from our eyes
Muffled clouds and misty skies
Winter grasps us tight and squeezes
I put my nose out – and it freezes...

Despite the cold, some nights are clear
Stars above the trees seem near
The wind brings colour to our cheeks
The voice of Old Man Winter creaks...

The alarm clock rings, it is still dark
Nature sleeps but Man must start
His hectic routine; is it right
To energise when it is night?

The woodland creatures now lie low
They wisely hibernate in snow;
The outdoor chill cuts like a knife
But I set forth - for such is life!

(c) Poet in the woods 2017

R.I.P. Johnny Hallyday (1943-2017)

Sad news today – we can't forget
L'Elvis français, Jean-Philippe Smet
The Sixties rocker, leather clad
What a 'bête de scène', that lad!
A phenomenon in tight blue jeans
Who taught the French just what it means
To live out fast, exciting dreams!

This shooting star of music pop
Kept generations on the hop
With TV, films and concert tours.
But none escape Dame Nature's laws...
Though his time's run out – at seventy-four
His albums bring him back once more ...
And many still there cry: «Encore!»

(c) Poet in the woods 2017

Died 6th December 2017

Tuesday, 5 December 2017

Bordering on the Ridiculous

The Irish make the going hard;
The Border crossing is ill-starred
The Emerald Isle has made its choice
There is no single «BREXIT» voice.

Talks rumble on, sands trickle through
Time's on the run but what's to do?
New power bases rise and fall
If all else fails – the crystal ball!

The body politic perplexed
We wonder what will happen next...
Financial markets feel the brunt
Perhaps it's just a media stunt?

And can the Brits «go it alone»
Abandoning the Eurozone?
Full separation? I don't think
With the Eurotunnel a fixed link!

(c) Poet in the woods 2017

Monday, 4 December 2017

At the Plaisirs d'Hiver

Despite a sprinkling of light snow
There's a constant to-and-fro
Roadworks be damned, no parking spaces
But Brussels boasts great saving graces!

We reach the back end of the year
With dark cold evenings, without cheer;
But behold a host of Christmas stalls
Whose lights intimidate snowfalls!

The city's son-et-lumière beguiles
The Grand'Place wreathed in coloured tiles
Reflections caught in window panes
Smeared watercolours when it rains...

The Ardennes tree, Wallonia's best
A magic touch that crowns the rest
While Gothic spire in mauve and red
Dominates from overhead.

Well-wrapped tourists stop and stare
Then selfies flash: «Hey, I was there!»
Before they vanish in the mist
For a welcome mulled wine tryst!

(c) Poet in the qwoods 2017