Background

York in Poetry: A Bay View on Rowntree Park

Posted on 25 November 2012 | Poem

A windless dawn. Wood pigeons coo,
a walker slides through the philanthropist’s
garden – his reflection’s dim where an ice
film fails to uphold preening mallards.
A grey squirrel takes in bare branches
leaping from dangled teenage limbs -
sycamore to flowering cherry to oak.
What could’ve propelled the dawn’s
passing screen of eastward mist?
The sun, behind its cold look,
with no ruby fingers extended,
now engulfs my jaded writing desk.
Soon the glow will shave the frost
from child-dedicated lawns and trails.
Already the deep yellow crocus wrestle
from my window-box. To the north
along a shingled dovecote’s gable
familiar white wings stay perched.
What could’ve propelled the dawn’s
passing screen of eastward mist?

I remove specs to rub away night,
watch branches reform to mesh.
At my slumped side, tight-lips
of star-gazers bend to the light;
their opening days in the future.
A robin’s lilt pierces the closed bay.
And my tired legs absorb the chill
that penetrates this Victorian house…
And what could’ve propelled dawn’s
passing screen of eastward mist?

- Paul Sutherland