it’s not the season
…..the occluded fronts
…..the barometrical pressures

it’s not the helpless sad sun
…..obscured by the sooty midday murk
the spiteful arctic sting
…..carried by the weak unsuspecting breeze
the frozen-rooted grass
…..aching to fall the forever green tree

…’s not the bare feet
upon the stone tiled floor
…..the rude awakening
in the ambient chilled bath
…..the blanket lost
to the frigid midnight moon

it’s not those
…..or anything
it’s just me
……….I’m cold


About Kurt Brindley

He is tall but he hopes to accomplish more in life than just that...
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

10 Responses to Cold

  1. sarahthespaz says:

    Wow. This made me catch my breath.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. henrygame says:

    I like your posts, they always make me think.
    Excellent work

    Liked by 1 person

  3. mojoshawn says:

    Really nice imagery!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. juicingjen says:

    The thought to ponder then is how do you warm up?

    Liked by 1 person

  5. dbp49 says:

    Excellent, I really liked it. Growing up in Winnipeg, in a big old, three-story house that you could just never get the chill out of. We all dreaded bath nights. Lol.



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