Author: Paul House

Poetry: The Smell Of Winter



High on a ridge we lie in the sun

And gaze out over the fields below.

In one of them, the flames have begun

To plough through the stubble. It will glow

Long into the night, controlled burning

Preparing the ground for a new seeding.

The leaves on the trees are already turning,

Their colours red and brown and bleeding,

And there, behind the smell of smoke,

The smell of winter.

 

And I think how in our lives we fail

To burn the stubble, ashamed to let

Go, ashamed to let common sense prevail

And rid us of harvests soaked and wet.

All too often we do not allow

The new seeds room to breathe. We feed

On bad or failed harvests. And yet how

Can we be sure with letting go our need

To hold on, we will manage to escape

The smell of winter.





Sample Chapters

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Poem for Anna •  Mandelstam and Mayakovsky •  The Lighted Window  •  Alone with the Years •  The Poet Tires •  Something there is •  La Madrugada •  Postcard of a Golden Retriever •  Shellfish •  Miguel Hernandez •  At the Edge of the Ebro •  Gone •  Playing Cards •  That's Where I Belong •  An Abstract Perfection •  Pearls in a Glass •  Poem for Susie •  Mornings in MalasaƱa •  Leo •  A Garbled Message •  Gnome •  Old Friends •  More About Penguins •  Ghosts •  Poem for Nelly •  Good Friday in Salamanca •  T.L.P. •  What It Is About •  The Blind Man And His Guide •  The Smell Of Winter •  For No Other Reason •  Poem for Linda