Lockdown Poetry by Fiona Hossack – Poems from Evington

September Sonnet

September is my favourite month of all,

When nature seems to grow to her perfection,

And keeps us holding on before the fall

When one cold night can wreak a transformation.

Lush greens in fields and hedgerows and trees,

With here and there a touch of gold or red.

Late summer sun and early Autumn breeze

That stirs the clustered leaves from overhead.

The acorns drop in multitudes around

And eager squirrels rush around in glee,

Collecting nuts to bury in the ground

In most peculiar places there can be.

An early Autumn treat before November

My favourite month, my birthday month, September.

 

Fiona Hossack, Lockdown Poetry, September 2020.

 

Halloween

On the eve of Halloween

All the witches can be seen,

Witches big and witches small,

Slowly creeping through the hall.

If you encounter one of those

With greasy hair and moldy clothes,

Do be careful by the door,

Of her broomstick on the floor.

Never chase her through the house,

You might end up as a mouse!

Watch out when you’re trick and treating

It may be a witch you’re meeting.

If you play a trick on her,

You might become a ball of fur

In the cauldron she is stirring,

No, it’s no use your demurring,

Stay at home to get your treat

Or you might end up as meat!

So I said (as well I might),

To stop my kids going out at night.

But the ending of my poem

Is not as dull as staying at home.

Later in my life a change

Proved that life is very strange.

For along came little James,

Always wants to join the games.

So one day his sister and brother

Dressed him up to scare his mother,

All in red like the infamous male

A pitchfork and a long forked tail.

Just when I had opened the door:

That’s when he let out a roar.

It scared me silly on every level,

I shouted, “It’s a little Devil!”

Fiona Hossack. Lockdown Poetry October 2020

 


November

November mist envelopes all, houses, hedges, trees.

Only the stark, street lights glare eerily through the haze.

As the sun rises, the sky is streaked with blue and pink;

Golden light touches the top of a tall evergreen,

While a pink, sun-kissed magpie flies from a roof.

In the garden, a blackbird pecks at the frozen ground,

Listening with tilted head for non-existent worms.

Skittish squirrels chase each other over the grass,

Digging holes here and there for invisible nuts.

A robin trills a few clear notes from an empty branch,

As a host of hungry birds descends on the feeders,

Showering seeds and bits of nut down on the ground

Where fat waddling pigeons hoover them up,

Vying with the magpies for supremacy.

Suddenly, the neighbour’s cat pushes through the hedge.

A rapid, rush of wings and all is still and quiet for now.

The cat sniffs the air and wanders slowly down the path.

Missed again! But maybe there’s a juicy mouse about?

Silently, the fox pads along the fox walk,

He’s seen the peanuts and jumps at the feeder,

Scattering them far and wide: what a tasty feast!

Spiders’ webs shimmer and sparkle in the morning sun

And shiny, green-leaved plants glitter on the trellis.

The new day has begun.

Fiona Hossack

Lockdown poetry January 2021

 

 

Memories in Winter

At the backend of the year,

When days grew short and frost lay white

Upon the rim of winter;

My mother would say, looking out into the dark,

‘The nights are drawing in!’

Pulling together the curtains, she’d

Turn back into the room, poke up the fire

And put the kettle on.

So much meaning in those words:

Full of warmth and comfort, yet

Filled with longing, as if Winter’s

Frosty footsteps trod upon

Summer’s dying leaves, and echoed

Through the blazing shades of Autumn.

Warmed by tea and toast, we’d watch

The firelight flicker in the grate.

‘Shortest day tomorrow!’ she’d

Exclaim, ‘and then the winter days

Start lengthening again!’ She’d look

Towards the Spring and Eastertime,

Promise of the warmth to come,

With holidays and summer treats.

Keeping hope alive she’d cheer

Our winters with her words.

In the Autumn of my life,

When time grows short and shadows come

To darken winter days.

I’ll remember what she said:

And when the nights are drawing in

I’ll not look out into the dark,

But close the curtains, turn up the heat,

And put the kettle on!

Fiona Hossack.

December 2005

 

Evington Echo