When Winter Really Came

A Seomra, wooden

inside and out,

with a polystyrene layer

in between,

sits at the bottom

of the garden,

dislodged from

the house

by three days

of snow.

He writes

in there,

which means

he stares out

the window

at falling flakes,

walks around

the shelves

fingering spines,

tidies and enters

mountains of

receipts accumulated over

an extended period,

repeats these rounds,

leaves for coffee,

forcing his way

through ten paces

of blizzard.

As a poet

in the making,

he follows this



three times daily.

Poetry in very

slow motion.

Peter Clarke


Phil Lynch

23.04.2018 08:17

Nice one Peter. I am in that 'Poemra/Seomra'!

David McDonough

22.04.2018 21:24

Very evocative


22.04.2018 17:41

I love this!

Latest comments

25.11 | 22:15

Grief is experience through the mundane. Simple but powerful. The accompanying image really compliments the poem.

07.11 | 11:14

Hi Peter,

A great observation! Social media can be a scary place... I also need to reduce my time there



06.11 | 16:24

A great one, Peter, in the context you describe. I don't read social media myself, I doubt my equilibrium could stand it. 'The balance of his mind disturbed' yes, I think it would be.

06.11 | 15:59

Yes, gossip is a weapon of mass destruction.

In my business as well as personal life I have zero tolerance.

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