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< Poems by Charles Jobson


The winter cabin

Heavy logs, baked together,

clamped by rusty iron;

dark and stained, holding just to a fragment of warmth.

The night sky is oppressive:

hanging dead and dull

a solitary star in a canvas of black.

Steel mugs clinking a tin-like sound.

Figures huddled round the stove.

Streaks of smoke escaping through a dwarf chimney.

Food meagre and bare:

coarse bread soaked in olive oil,

coffee frothing, dark but cheering.

When it's time to venture out,

treading footprints in the snow.

Winter's mantle frosting the glass windows.

A candle flickering, incandescent, reassuring.


Charles Jobson 2020. For permission to re-use contact  godfrey@wordsout.co.uk.