Valerie Volk

Friendly Street Poets, South Australia



A joyous colour, white.
One thinks of brides
and Christmas cards,
with robins chirping merrily
in scenes of snow and candlelight.
‘Whiter than snow,’ they say,
as if this is desirable.

So white is beautiful?

They lie.
For white is sterile

It blurs the vision,
blinds the eyes.
Strange creatures loom
like bears on barren cliffs.
And disappear.

Utter chill descends.
Blood freezes.
The desolation
of this winter scene
breeds fear and melancholy.
Blackened grass tips
and spider-ragged bushes
fail to carry any promise
of new life to come.