Jonny, or Jimmy perhaps?

Feather-frosted tendrils reach their insistent fingers
Into all the nooks and crannies, and slowly and gently
Siphon away all the warmth, leaving behind an empty
Blue chill, a lack of colour and golden light, and
Replacing it with a silver sliver, a razor-like
Blade of cold, of ice and crystal-flowers, and
Welcoming lazily the wandering snowflakes as they
Swirl and drift in the wind.
As the seconds go by, the ticking clock measures
The inch-built-snowdrift, and the world
Fades into a muted soundtrack, muffled
And dull, the passing tyres caressed
And carried on the white carpeted road.

And do you remember, you, sat by your fire?
You, with a beer by your side, and your
Cigarettes ready rolled in a tin?
Do you remember the man you walked
Past, today, at the bus station?
Do you? Do you wonder where he is now?
Is he huddled in a doorway, or lying,
Past shivering or caring on a bench
Somewhere?
Because we all forget. And we should never forget.

© 2ndwitch, 13/01/15

Written as a sort of memorial to someone I read about, and to express a contrast that often strikes me. It is not the very rich, secure and immune to the pain of those with nothing, that provide the harshest contrast - but it is the working man, the working woman, who are only a few steps from the doorway themselves, it is he or she who present the contrast to me.

Blood is thicker than ink.

And I think.
I think that blood is thicker than ink.
Ink is also black, or blue, or red, or green.
Blood is red.
It is a myth that some blood is blue.
There is no definition that applies.
There is no delineation in my eyes.
So that I conclude that indeed
Bood is thicker than ink.
And on the moonlit horizon,
There is a star, shining and
Sending a pinpoint of light to
Focus on the man who sits upon
The shore and gazes at the
Never-ending tide, the shifting
And changing sands beneath
His feet pulling him in towards
The centre of this earth.
The globe of rock and earth
Girt by seas, that spins and turns
Around the burning sun that
Allows us life, is a globe
Of green and blue, with
No distinction between black and white.
There is no delineation in my eyes.
And blood is thicker than ink.

© 2ndwitch, 07/10/14

(With thanks to Roddy Woomble, whose song "Between the old moon" was the inspiration for this poem. See http://www.roddywoomble.com )