Winter glass


Winter glass

is yellowed with old sun

mottled by bird claws

resembling stained relief

a mustard bath

enclosing grief

fields are reaped clear

left to darken

shaken fallow

like wands of sadness

where once they were bright

alive with mice and voles

claiming their hidden kingdom

ears of corn straining upward

unfolding as sun shines

we forget to wipe windows clear

when clouds descend and rivers


closing off air

closing off movement

we retire in our woolen worlds

tucking our chins against brutal cold

like robins closing their red breasts

and the light that gets in

is tainted

like long left cigarette

stains thumb and forefinger

betraying a little of the smokers emotion

as she holds it

sparking in darkness

inhaling her grief

like swallowing words

goes unseen

beneath the ice of defeat


we who clamor without tongues

who fill our mouths with knowledge

no one is there to listen

we who close our doors at night

to the sound of hibernation

keeping out those who would

tear us from rigid postures

make scarecrows in blizzards

of our rags and scoured bones

for who knows?

how another feels behind walls

or how it feels to be touched by

dirty light letting in the reminder

we are but fields of yellow

turning brown and beginning once more

each time a little less steady

in our long walk


32 thoughts on “Winter glass

  1. The visuals in your poem haunt me in a good way.

    After reading your poem I felt a sense of loneliness, depression, or the existence of everything that we are feeling in our planet.

    What I’ve always loved of your work from the beginning, is you hold nothing back and you let us the readers have it. Gosh! I am so lucky you are my sister. I love you so much! πŸ™‚ ❀

  2. You. are. amazing. This. is. amazing. I want the world to read it. I wish I had thousands of twitter followers becuase it’s going on there now.

  3. Reblogged this on Richard M. Ankers and commented:
    Just had to reblog this. Incredible!
    And to anyone who doesn’t realise, this is Candice Daquin’s NEW TheFeatheredSleep poetry site. Do yourself a favour and follow it if you don’t know her, and if you do, you’re probably already there.

  4. i wish i could read your twitter but i sort of hate twitter aside your twitter which is hilarious and brilliant can you give me your handle again so i can at least read it once in a while? ps thank you sweetheart you are the most lovely and such a good muse – i hope you read that poem i wrote a few days ago about you xo

  5. You’re going to make me look for it now, aren’t you? My highly developed sense of modesty might not let me realise it’s about me though πŸ˜‰

  6. ha ha ha! You’re right, you wouldn’t know. I love that because you’re all that and you don’t think you are, that’s the best way to be, it keeps you real. I’ll email you.

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