I wake to a muffled world

where the curtains shine with a sepia tint.

Somewhere, I hear a faint rustle of ticker tape,

falling in drifts.

It is eerily quiet as I peek out

half knowing the reason.

A magician, up all night,

has covered the garden,

deadening the air with nature’s Kapok.


A bandy legged primate, waterproofed, uncertain

overtakes a drunk car, failing its sobriety test.



I smile with guilty pleasure.

Routine dissolves as flakes on the windows.

Any thought of work drips from the sill

To form an icicle of excuses.


A family of Michelin people

waddle in vague trails,

their usually confident tread undone

as the kerbs shift and slip to unexpected places.

Inappropriately shod fashionistas

curse their vanity.


I skip outside.

Boots creak,

As if in need of oil.

The smothered hawthorn emerges at my touch

releasing a cloud of hissing white gas.


Everywhere unthreatening Hoodies

reveal glimpses of childhoods re-found.


Dogs frolic in their demented ignorance,

Catching never quite there balls of cold white dust

Shaking away their surprise.


Inside the Park a new physics applies.

Cool mannered, indifferent teenagers

become seven.

Armed with their lightweight ordnance,

Everyone laughs at their hapless aggression.


Young families, paroled by snow

from school and work

play god and mould a choir of obese people,

accessorized with twigs and vegetables,

while all defy homespun codes of practice

on the importance of

keeping warm and snug.


The enfeebled sun fights to dampen

our mood.

It wins as cars retake their streets,

spewing a grey gloop from their callous tyres.


I slither home, uphill whichever way I go.

Unaccustomed muscles growl, frozen fingers

protest, each jab and squeeze

waking me from my illicit

dreaming, leaving my love affair with snow

in puddles on the parquet.

About TanGental

My name is Geoff Le Pard. Once I was a lawyer; now I am a writer. I've published four books - Dead Flies and Sherry Trifle, My Father and Other Liars, Salisbury Square and Buster & Moo. In addition I have published three anthologies of short stories and a memoir of my mother. More will appear soon. I will try and continue to blog regularly at about whatever takes my fancy. I hope it does yours too. These are my thoughts and no one else is to blame. If you want to nab anything I post, please acknowledge where it came from.
This entry was posted in Dulwich, poems, poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Snow

  1. Norah says:

    The imagery in this is beautiful Geoff. I really enjoyed reading it and thinking about each of the images you described. I have had but one brief encounter with snow so each snippet of your description was a marvel to explore. Positively poetic! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Cindi says:

    Oh, this makes me long for winter, my favorite season … in part because of the “parole” from work and school responsibilities a fresh, overnight snowstorm could bring. Thank you for taking me back to that time in my daughters’ lives!


  3. Charli Mills says:

    This is the snow of my childhood! A lovely romp!


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