Some Wintertime Poems by Finola Scott

frosty holly jim


So the Darkness approaches,

I could talk of

                                   enveloping black

                                   the rip and reveal of the veil

                                   stripped furrows and iron earth

                                   barren trees, growth-numbed

                                   days blink-blind short

                                   fur and leather on the wing

                                   claws’ clatter at thresholds.

Instead I consider

                                   the star bright canopy

                                   hoar-silvered morning webs

                                   ruddy- riped berries

                                   a horned moon hooking night

                                   rooms flamed in candlelight

                                   vevlet nights in each other’s skin.

My arms open.



This city’s a cutting room tonight.
Slashed ribbons of fog freeze braes.
Clattering cobbles hush. Tattered organza
halts Jekyll’s progress, cordons narrow closes,
cloaks solemn steps. Shreds of chiffon  wander

wynds,  muzzle mouths, silence Deacon Brodie.

This city’s a cutting room. Dank white
damask chokes booted footfalls,
Burke & Hare slip stealthily. Leaves
Dr Knox safe again. Iced satin snags
and drapes, the Castle’s a glowering ghost.
Cut on the bias crystal mist binds, blinds.
Edinburgh’s under wraps.


In winter wet, the struggle to dry washing.

Partner-less pillowcases, single sheets

recall other sunny washes. Squares 

of towelling flapped and sang. Tiny vests, 

cotton mitts – clothes for startled changelings. 

Dolly pegs pranced tight-ropes

of bright tomorrows.

Today brute frost stiffens fabric rigid.

The robin stays on a distant wall.

I feel the chill marrow-deep.

by Finola Scott

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This section: Christmas Poems , Stories and Winter Tales, stories and poems, Writing for the Festive Season

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