Holding hands in fresh gloves we walk the Winter woods; it’s quiet on Boxing Day morning; probably too many bad heads sleeping it off.
The essence of Chris is still hanging in the air, from the tall pine sentries lining our route, watching us in the scarves wrapped around our faces; the same scarves muffling our voices, and the words we get wrong, singing the Christmas songs everyone knows.
We ask each other to name their favourite part of Christmas so far; I say spending time with you; I know I say the same thing every year but it’s the truth; and you say the same.
I’m lost in your hazelnut eyes when snow begins to fall; I wonder what it would be like to be frozen in time; right here, right now, in this very moment; but when the soft snowflake hits my cheek; I wake up from my festive fog, and we walk on – destination unknown.
Wishing you all a Merry Christmas and Festive Good Fortune,
We sat under a steady autumn sky watching the tiny acts of rebellion as young clouds broke away from old grey from white, white from grey and the sun threw firecrackers at the surface of the sea silent, straw-gold crackling amid the calm we stole glances from each other as the tender harbour breeze kisses our cheeks turning us blush-pink the terns and gulls played tag swooping too close to earth that the seagrass stole some feathers and – as nature misbehaved all around us I softly gripped your hand knowing you’d never let me go because I was falling in love with you even more and this falling will go on forever like the marble-blue horizon
– under the steady autumn sky.
Thanks for taking time to read my poem, I hope you enjoyed it. While you’re here, why not check some of my other work out.
I remember how my hand fit into yours with welcoming ease and the warmth of your skin heated my tepid fingers as we walked along the beach
the North Sea was trembling with chilling intensity – as we skimmed stones plucked fresh from champagne-gold sand they wisped over waves their light friction warming the water and calming the sea
I told a joke about blushing lobsters and seaweed you laughed because it was so bad and the frame of your face lit up the dusky sky better than the distant hilltop fire beacons could ever hope to
I’m hoping this has all has gone to plan – that some years have passed – and our hands still fit each others that the message I buried in this bottle is not lost to the tide like so many other romances and we’re reading this in the spot where we sat and snuggled that night stargazing at the peach-kissed setting sun on the horizon
– because I know that I will love you forever.
Thanks for taking the time to read this poem dedicated to my beautiful wife, Christine.
that thick cotton shirt shade of deep midnight with moon-silver thread glistening ethereal under streetlights wearing it felt celestial so I only wore it once for our first date drinks and pizza looking at each other over red gingham cloth and flickering candle wax dripping down an empty bottle of last week’s house wine conversation mostly answers to silent questions asked with eyes and the curve of nervous lips I tried to be a gentleman and pull out your chair as we were leaving the waiter saw it as an affront for which I apologised to show I was a gentleman and when we hugged goodbye I felt our cheeks touch both warm with wine and affection so when I see the same shirt folded neatly in your drawer close to the memory box and wedding album I catch a glimmer from the moon-silver thread that helped stitch our lives together I believe in magic.
Thanks for taking the time to read this poem, dedicated to my beautiful wife.
Zero degrees C in the peak of midwinter we wrapped up warm in wool and polyester pulled on our boots thick with suede upper and gripping rubber soles primed and ready to walk the forest its floor frosted white glamourising the natural litter of fallen acorns and amber needles we held each others hand through our scandi grey gloves a) for support since I was clumsy and b) for love we looked out over the blank frozen fields and into the feeble glare of a weakened winter sun some chimneys breathed in the distance a sign of life going on while time stood still as we tightened our hands our minds raced to what the future would hold luckily for me I still get to hold you.
Thanks for reading. Thanks to freestocks on unsplash for use of the image.
A cornflower sky littered haphazardly with spluttering wispy pearls housing an effortless sun watched over us as we dangled and dropped twigs of beech, ash and elm into the dawdling waters below our knees planted porous on the sandstone bridge absorbing some of its history our eyes followed the branches ferrying along the river stroking and slapping against limestone and basalt we were quiet and thoughtful wondering where they’d end up wondering where we’d end up and although sometimes silence can be deafening on that day the silent moments we shared only spoke of our serenity with each other.
I felt at home in Copenhagen at winter’s twilight under the glow of warm vintage lanterns our breathing visible through knitted woollen scarves the air was kissed with scents of cinnamon, clove and citrus the nearby sounds of mirth and merriment interspersed with delighted roars and screams from the roller-coasters above warmth came from holding your hand and the chewy crunch of sweet-spiced almonds while opulent flakes of diamond snow fell graciously each one uniquely dazzling lining our pathway already a vivid spectrum of technicolour we sat on plastic and pine stools dropping kroner into the palm of a great Dane and laughed with love as we tried to make wooden horses gallop to the end of a straight line taking our time appreciating life as it’s meant to be. Together. That’s why I felt at home in Copenhagen.
The photo wasn’t spoiled by my thumb it was immaculate because you were there standing your back to the sky and the wind brushed your face as a smile lit your eyes and clouds retreated in awe of your heart.