Homework 14/7

[Ron]

Winter

The dead of Winter serves a sunless glacial day
Devoid of all colour but for dull, depressing grey
A harsh wind cuts as razors, slicing to the bone
With lashing sleet that feels, from polar regions blown!
All best observed, in comfort by a crackling fire
While pondering thoughts, of culinary desire.
Meatballs and gravy on that day of Winter freeze
Would sate all hunger and banish knocking of the knees,
With chilli! and garlic! and spices to die for!
To leave the sinuses with, a reason to cry for,
A warning though be wary, from where they’re dispatched
Because there’s many brass monkeys, of parts …detached!

© Ron Boughton
July ‘14

[Maureen K Clifford]

It's well and truly Brass Monkey season up in Stanthorpe right now Ron and reading your poem that's where it transported me too along with the roaring fires and the hot and hearty stews.

Good for you - you met the challenge

[Ron]

Thanks Maureen,
On a re-read it could have done with a bit more polish.
Wasn't there a song about brass monkeys in Stanthorpe? I think I heard it on 'Macca' many years ago.

Ron

[Maureen K Clifford]

Don't know Ron - there may well have been but there are brass monkeys in the main street of town