Ice wind

hits brutally, whipping rumour around the Beacon;

across the eastern plain, grey cloud smothers debate.

Blessed are you who weep now,

    for you will laugh.

Collar up, scarfs tight, thermal beanie pulled hard down,

glancing East and South; caught between two ill-winds.

Woe to you who are mocking now,

    for you will mourn and weep.

On the borders, white noise whispers chilled warnings;

to the north, numb blue lips discuss choked silence. 

12.2.22

©  Craig Muir 2022

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 2.0 UK: England & Wales License.

Predator

I wait. Body still, eyes scanning

timber shaped onto meadow

across long shadows. Watching.

Behind, bare trees merge in

to ochre, caramel, cinnamon.

I wait. Body still, eyes scanning

until, with a flick, a lift, a sweeping

of long limbs; I shift down the line

across long shadows. Watching

the way neighbours gather to begin

a fresh survey of the butchers’ ground.

I wait. Body still, eyes scanning

beyond sunlight steadily rising

as amber, saffron, yarrow beams

across long shadows. Watching.

From the field beyond, a lonely figure

emerges oblivious to another presence.

I wait. Body still, eyes scanning

across long shadows. Watching.

2.2.22

©  Craig Muir 2022

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 2.0 UK: England & Wales License.