Poetry

On The Horizon

by

Bob Nimmo

Distant mountains line the vision's edge
bibbed in snow
like old men laid end to end sky-gazing,
sharp noses sniffing changing tones
puckered lips smacking toothless bones
while chiselled chins jut arrogantly.
Dessicated torsos stretch in tandem
no bellies or arthritic joints lie here
no distended slack from too much beer
just frames laid back to back.

Love's Seasons

by

Bob Nimmo

Tiny points of green emerge
touch of newness
ripe and succulent
supple dawns of warmth
a hope beyond
trembling thrills
salad days

Folds pink and white
blooms burst
ruddy ripeness
steamy nights
pawed passion
stars descend
to scorch and
tantalise

Russets rusty
wreathe
towards descent
eager newness gone
practice has
now cost
perfection

Naked limbs
of bracken
rigid
stark
the icy touch
of absence
marks the loss
and Eros'
natural end.

Winter

by

Bob Nimmo

Winter is passionate:

stringy silver birch
trailing threads
in the wind;
grey, hilly humps
pushing mountains
behind milky curtains;
frosty fingernails
pinching flushed cheeks.

Winter gives one perspective.

Like him
blonde strands
feathering
damply,
molten muscle
pumping
Grecian mounds,
frosty breath
floating thin words
on steamy lines
to ice and pinch
cutting deep.

Sense the subdued whispering,
smell the agitated leaves scattering,
tremble to the chill at the back of the neck.
another muzzled lie drifts loosely.