Looking for winter ( poetry challenge )


I heard the lake speak of its captor

my stone played echoes on the ice.

The synthetic crunch

of powdered snow

is tainted by the day as

grit holes turn to black spots

browning under tyre slush.


It offers me its pungent sleep

burnt deep beneath hands sized leaves,

thick as early morning mist

that hangs heavy on the spire.


I tasted its fingers inside

my lungs, condensing through

my red wool scarf.

Then heard it snap a fallen branch

silent as a gun shot to a deer.


© savvi 2023
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critique and comments welcome.
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A distinctive view of the approaching winter, Keith, and the feelings that it inspires.

If I may be allowed to point out a few typos:
the noun on the second line should be ‘echoes’;
the first line in the second stanza should read ‘ it offers me’;
on the first line of the final verse: ‘its fingers’.

I hope you don’t mind these observations.
Regards, Luigi.


I see luigi has pre empted my own critique. All in all an effective poem, worth reading.
Although I did not understand the use of the word ‘grits’


Yes Keith. It paints a picture. I love the use of sound in this piece. I too am fascinated by the twonking sound of stones skiffed on ice. Great start mate.;

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Savvi, this is quite incredible given that it was so hastily written. I see from comments that you must have done some editing since first post and I can tell you I was working on mine for days after first posting and it filled out and changed considerably! Which is the way it goes for me with poems anyway – I do lots of revision and rewrites. Really have to agree with Franciman’s take on your use of sound to excellent effect in your images and word choice, and also with Goth when he intuits the anticipatory feel of this… Read more »

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