A Poem For Yorkshire/A Poem For National Poetry Day

Twisted deer antlers topped the trees
a place to hang coats, hang the keys.
Close the door, shut out the cold
wrap between blankets, rest amongst the folds.
A Twitch of the feet, a comfortable greeting
to the night ahead, Sunday feeling.
The constant wash of water’s drip,
drains from forehead, a salty fit.
Down past the shoulders, above the chest,
a pool waits and rises and comes to breast.
Cold to touch, warmed to heal
balanced nicely, wave and keel.

For this is a feeling,
a moment
a one hour, one off, Christmas special
For you are a feeling
a moment
a one hour, one off Christmas special.