Snowman, his coat a trillion frosty threads...crotched by Jack,
the naughty mischief maker.
Each crystal cast perfect by Boreas. #
Blizzard bullies, bustling, jig-sawed sleet,
crystallized in my mindscape of imagery.
Winter Sun dares to melt you down, pasty white.
Your peculiar perfume, suggests ice cubes soaked in lemon-crush.
Shiver, quiver. As goose-bumps frazzle your Arctic world
the moon shines crazy, diamond flames hang in the lonely sky.
I materialise you...the absent person,
I colour the scene with my paintbrush and bucket.
Bold, stiff... blow a bon-bon kiss,
you sentry on snow-laden ice,
under heaven-hung, bunting stars...
a diamante necklace, swanked by Nyx, Greek Goddess of the Night.
Platted rainbows twist, entwine hues, illuminate
a fibre-glassed squirrel who morphs into a swirl of peppermint puffs
and whirls round in muffled silence.
Rouge-crested Robin rests on cold shoulder, then
alights on umber wings...
Ruby stained Snowman chuckles like river ripples,
egg-white flakes dying to pirouette,
airborne ballerinas, swivelling, spinning...
from knitted, silken clouds, finer than a Fuschia’s blush.
Come Spring sprinkles of Lime grass and creamed Crocus
blanket my view where you once stood.
Reality or imagination, I am the speaker of this poem,
so Jack, draw fern-like patterns on my windows, then
run away with Nymph shadows...
Even the wind dies happy.
# Boreas...Greek God of Winter.