The bleak midwinter arrived in
the middle of winter
and it was bleak.
Not moor bleak;
more bleak than that.
The wind was keen,
not in that American neat way
nor like mustard,
but sharp
and bleak
because it was midwinter.
I watched it being bleak midwinter
but I don’t think God did.
***
Doug Jacquier has lived in many places across Australia, including regional and remote communities, and has travelled extensively overseas. His poems and stories have been published in Australia, the US, the UK, Canada, New Zealand and India. He blogs at Six Crooked Highways (wordpress.com)
***
image: Jade Hawk is a meat popsicle.
Rejection Letters 