The Fourth Season
The ghostly birch extends it’s arms;
fingers protruding into the dark night
shadows- of geranium stain the ground.
A landscape so bleak it…
struggles against the thin air,
like shy lovers touching hands.
I trudge heavily, ground -
laden with snow, it
from white eyelashes, one blink
brings an avalanche
catching the low sun.
Suddenly the carpet is full of stars.
The forest silently ticks on, minute calls
murmuring, shipwrecked sirens…Scentless.
Slats of light, tease through naked
venetian bones, our eyes eat the warmth.
Beneath the earth sap stirs
before sneaking into spring…
David Williams was born in England and has resided there all of his life. He started writing poetry at the tender age of 14. He was encouraged to enter a local school poetry contest and went on to win it. In later life, he joined many local poetry groups and writers circles, eventually becoming chairman. He has had 9 poetry books published and is collating material for two more books which will hopefully be out later this year. He holds workshops to help and encourage writers to understand the many different forms of poetry. He has won many contests and is also a recognised poetry judge.