January – by Ken Cumberlidge

 

Frost-shod,
wind-whipped,
hunkered;

scarfed, gloved,
suitably-sensibly-multiply-layered,
we walk

foursquare toward
a dazzle of
but-lately-risen,
barely molten,
low, slow winter sun:

puddles iced by last night’s starlight
squeaking, squeezed
beneath our boot-treads;

Giacometti shadow-puppets
skipping
in our wake.

 

 

Birkenhead-born recovering actor Ken Cumberlidge has been writing and performing poetry, songs and stories on and off for 40+ years. Since 2011 he’s been based in Norwich, where he can be spotted most days, muttering and gesticulating in the company of an embarrassed-looking dog.  Don’t worry – the dog’s fine.

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