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A Poem for National Poetry Day: the Beginning of Winter by David Onamade

It is October. The rains, winds and cold

are angrier than usual.

They pour. They blow. They bite:

the spite they have stewed.

The floor of my tent is wet,

Though it does its best to stifle the smouldering

peat bog under the blankets,

plastic sheeting, cardboards

and sleeping bag. The peat bog

that releases slow, sticky

and stringy streaks of dampness –

there but not there, a simmering

Dampness that is stirred worse

by the condensation that

that hangs on the tent like a lateral bat:

the water droplets, cold, wet

And heavy. They burst like ice stalactites.

It is October. The rains, winds

and cold are angrier than usual.

They pour. They blow. They bite.

A poem for 6th Oct 2022 In remembrance of the late David Onamade 1962-2021 from his SORROW, TEARS & BLOOD publication by Arkbound. R.I.P David.

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