Lips, soft as velvet, primrose pink,
Are rent the blue of bruising ink.
They rive and crackle in the cold,
Retract in tissue paper folds;
Corroded strips as flayed as zinc
Teased grey and gaunt, and growing old.

Faint silver sands shake down like snow,
Days melting slowly in the glow
Of raindrop spheres which sadly swirl.
The epilogues of chilled limbs curl
And only snowdrop shells can grow,
Their petal stems all sharply furled.

Ice strives to anodise the throat
And strangle any golden note.
Breath hovers in a frozen cloud
And ripples like a rimy shroud.
The season seeks to crow and gloat
In icy crowns, all poised and proud.

Frost sleeps within our brittle bones
And clots white water into stone:
Fish paralysed in glassy halls
As daylight ebbs and verglas crawls.
Each speck of life is quite alone
And cloaked in misty coffin palls.

The year’s last act is spliced and split
With wintry whips and heaven-spit.
They sting the skull and smart the skin,
Their lustrous coldness puncturing
Our lungs in silent censorship.
They dare the year to reach the spring.

 

Annabelle Fuller is a student and poet from Yorkshire who writes for The Indiependent. She has had poems displayed in the V&A, Sigmund Freud Museum and Oxford University Church, and won her category of the Ilkley Literature Festival in 2016 and 2017. Her work can also be found in New Poetry Magazine and on the Poetry Society website.


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9 Responses

  1. James A. Tweedie

    Annabelle,

    Thank you for your chilling vision captured in an innovative rhyhmic scheme (no doubt familiar to those more “versed” in such matters than I am). Everything is lovely but several turns of phrase strike me as particularly elegant. Some of my favorites include:

    Days melting slowly in the glow
    Of raindrop spheres…

    Breath hovers in a frozen cloud…

    And clots white water into stone…

    Although this is a cliche I mean it as a sincere compliment: “You have a way with words.” Indeed!

    Reply
  2. Leonard Dabydeen

    Beautiful and timely seasonal poem. Enjoy its rhyme scheme in iambic tetrameter. Like stanza four …” Frost sleeps within our brittle bones/ ….”. Welcome Spring. TFS, Annabelle Fuller.

    Reply
    • James A. Tweedie

      Leonard, I appreciate your nod to my query but it’s the aabbab pattern I was curious about (I typed “rhythmic pattern” instead of my intended “rhyming pattern”). Does this pattern have a name? is it common or rare? It certainly adds depth and richness to the repetitive tetrameter it embraces. A successful choice.

      Reply
  3. David Watt

    I also loved your many memorable phrases. Those already mentioned plus:

    ‘The year’s last act is spliced and split
    With wintry whips and heaven-spit.’

    I look forward to reading more of your work.

    Reply
  4. Annabelle Fuller

    Thank you for the comments, everyone! I’m glad that rhythm and rhyme have been well received.

    Reply

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