WHAT'S THIS?

Having been immersed in memoir writing for many months, I decided to write a small poem every day for a year to keep my poetic hand in. I've posted them to Instagram and facebook as written – where, to my amazement, people love them – but on this blog they are sometimes subject to later rewriting.
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Thursday, 28 December 2023

I'm looking at ...

 

I’m looking at a picture of penguins

standing stiffly upright, wings/flippers

clasped to their sides. They are covered

in fluffy white fur; perhaps they are

youngsters? The ground and the air

enclose them in unrelieved white. 

What must it be like, surrounded 

by cold like that, knowing nothing 

different ever? A whole world of cold. 

I am sprawled in sarong and thongs 

in front of a large electric fan. And

I’d rather. I never want to experience 

unchanging, immersive, monotonous,

all day and every day, paralysing cold. 




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