Thursday, April 5, 2012

When snow falls upon a Northern town








It is April and it hasn't snowed here in Manchester which feels strange when watching news footage of nearby places which have come to a standstill. However, I took a weekend away to the Hope Valley in February where it snowed so much that our taxi back to Grindleford from Bakewell nearly got stuck. I took some pictures then which I've been meaning to post as I love that part of the Peak District. So here's a few of them (I included a bleak one in yesterday's post). I've also written another bloem. I'm never sure how to construct poems. Does one need to learn this in the 21st century? Advice welcomed. It's something I'm doing to get by at the moment as I find spring a tricky time of year. So, in this poem I'm talking about snow. And, of course, other stuff too.




When snow falls upon a Northern town

Snow erases the pavements, worn shoddy by boundless weary footsteps
It wraps up afresh the tanned terraced houses, their stone ambushed by industrial smoke
It swathes the grubby river, littered deep with forgotten packaging
And encloses the ready traffic, setting cold the friction of rubber tyres on concrete

Snow glimmers like the white teeth of a tiger who knows you are aware of its volatility
Its beauty from a distance pinches your spirits, rescinds your routines and cancels out concerns
Excuisitley, it invalidates your everyday, offering an escape
enchanting, fleeting and unpredicted.
We lose ourselves in its frosty promise. We live with it and without it.

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