Winter Light

Horizontal strobes
across the russeting slope

disclose the contours of the land

the fierce geography of rock
the patterning of sheep through bracken
lipped water-marks on sand

The mountain’s shadow
bruises the lake.

The season is wintering in

and the cold is like loss:
a cramping hold on bone
muscle, thought, spilling in

from the east.

The air tastes metallic
like snow dissolving on the tongue.

This is the death month;
December’s Druid alphabet
that signified

the rebirth of the spirit.

Ash trees clumsy with unshed seeds,
a deer’s tooth grooving the bark.
I glimpse a snowdrop spiking up

through a dead leaf

before the  falling sun herds
us into the longest night.
.
© Kathleen Jones

~ published in Not Saying Goodbye at Gate 21, Templar Poetry, 2011

Reproduced here with permission.

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As I posted on Saturday 17, I am currently refeaturing Tuesday Poems from the past four years “by poet”, i.e. focusing on those instances where I’ve featured more than one poem by the same poet. Generally, I am proceeding in alphabetical order by poet’s surname, but because it’s currently the winter solstice, this week I have stepped out of sequence to feature Kathleen Jones’ “Winter Light.” I hope you will agree that the poem is perfect for the season, despite our winter solstice being now, rather than in December.

To read my commentary from the initial Tuesday posting, please click on:

“Winter Light”, by Kathleen Jones

You will also find Kathleen’s biography there, but as she is a fellow Tuesday poet I also recommend that you visit her blog:

A Writer’s Life

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To check out the featured poem on the Tuesday Poem Hub and other great poems from fellow Tuesday poets from around the world, click here or on the Quill icon in the sidebar.