Old, slack-jawed February, Slips in before the battles won, Stealing breath, stealing victory. Old February, slinking out the back of the old white weatherboard house Blowing a cool breeze across the ground And taking hold of all the bitter broken down Branches that collapse into the snow. Watch as he reveals himself a changing chameleon as he sends aloft the bitter cold. No longer is sloe eyed January there to save you, obedient January, who can harm no-one. Here is bitter, taloned February, reaching out, Grasping you from the docile grip you hold. The months fear is lost on no-one, as he reaches out, Calling for salvation from his ensnarled claw-arms. Twisted metal flays from The white weatherboard house as February begins to fade allowing the March breeze to push him away. Shivering, as he releases his terrible grip, people know not what to give it as name. Old February knows, bad old February. Seasonal death.
that's some excellent work there! I loved pretty much every aspect of this; your technique especially. every stanza begins with a hook and winds down to an end before the next begins, and the imagery you've used is wonderful. only thing I noticed that was only slightly distracting were some of the line breaks. most of the unusual breaks really did work well, tho, it was only in a couple of places. I really enjoyed this one, thanks for sharing it and I look forward to reading more of your work!
Wrenching with blistering power, coated with gentleness, like receiving a valentines card after the break-up.
