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Charlotte Kingsfield-Blake Poem
He looked out at the snow and ice,
As a cold wind whistled winter
Through the door, bringing hope
Of making a real-life snowman,
A special friend for a lonely boy,
At least in his world it was so.
He ran out of his room and leapt so
High, sliding down the banister as if on ice.
Then, putting on his boots and scarf, the boy
Flew out of the door into the depths of winter,
Laughing, scooping, sculpting his snowman,
His pal, his accomplice, his hope.
He rolled about without a hope
Of caring for the cold, and so,
Wrapping his scarf around his snowman,
He skidded about on sparkling ice
Losing his boots to the big mad winter…
And there was no happier boy.
A solitary but cheerful boy,
No others there to spoil the hope
Of finding secret delights in winter
That only he believed in so,
Secrets long buried in solid ice,
Yet found inside a snowman.
He danced and chatted to his snowman
And he in turn smiled down at the boy,
Complete with carrot nose and eyes of ice
It filled his heart with warmth and hope,
Showed him the meaning of life so
Full of love, in coldest cruellest winter.
Back inside he looks on winter
Watching his own precious snowman,
And though the fire roars and sweets so
Tempting fill the senses of the boy,
Nothing gives him more joy-filled hope
Than gazing on two lumps of ice.
The darkest winter, that lies inside a boy,
Is brightened by a snowman, a light of hope
That friendship gives so, through frozen ice.
Copyright © Charlotte Kingsfield-Blake | Year Posted 2014
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Charlotte Kingsfield-Blake Poem
Animal Freedom
A Christmas walk in soft sun of winter
Across crisp fields of umber and green,
A sharp breeze blowing with freedom
On their faces, aglow with the hope
Of seeing one again – a bird; their bird,
Soaring and diving defiantly so.
The eagle. Powerful, swift and so
Free. Wings outstretched on currents of winter
Warmth, rising higher than any other bird.
It’s golden feathers shimmering over green
Hills and clear blue skies, in the hope
Of spying prey, running in a last bid for freedom.
They looked and walked and talked in freedom,
Enjoying the country lanes and paths in so
Carefree a manner; such a rich land of hope,
Bursting with creatures alive in the winter
Meadows: robins, rabbits, hares, a green
Woodpecker, and many a chattering bird.
They paused to rest and listen to bird
Song and breeze, relishing in the freedom
At the heart of nature, so fresh and green;
When suddenly, they saw a bush shaking so
Violently. They stopped and stared, the winter
Wind? Too strong. They watched in hope
Of seeing something curious, or in the hope
Of discovering if this at last was their bird,
Hunting untamed in the wilds of winter.
They approached, careful not to intrude on the freedom
Of the wild, but all they could see was a fluttering so
Urgent, flapping wings, a rubbed-raw leg, a thread of green.
A blackbird was trapped on a branch by green
String; frantic, desperate panic, yet hope
Shone in its eyes, pleadingly so.
They spoke softly, carefully untying the bird,
Which flew off to the wind in a cry of freedom.
They felt proud, liberated, in a wonderland of winter.
They ran home for dinner of green sprouts and festive roast bird;
Bred in darkness and stench, no hope of daylight or freedom.
Incarcerated, deformed, wounded so bad, in a long-hardened winter.
Spare a thought for your turkey this Christmas…
Copyright © Charlotte Kingsfield-Blake | Year Posted 2014
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