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Another PTSD poem - written while recovering in Munich. Daily walks in the Westpark through a though winter were a great source of inspiration.

Winter in Munich

Screen_shot_2017-12-05_at_08.50.24by Patrick Howse21 Aug 2013

Whenever sleep is required, But resisted,
The baby is bundled
And pushed through the park.

Mistletoe explodes
In bare branches

Loudly proclaiming
Life will not be denied

Even as it quietly
Kills its host.


Snow changes everything.

Etched in dense lead white
Laden trees emphasise

Squirrel rust-red,
Crow black.

The path fell in last night’s blizzard.


A Blackbird alarm betrays fear:
It shouldn’t be this scared

Of man, of baby,
Of track-side bush;

Breath escapes with the flash
Of mottled grey

Sparrowhawk gripping,
Tearing life

From straining breast,
Escaping through

A final choked-off complaint
And hint of yellow beak.


Up the hill
Wheels clog, lock

And sledge through surface whiteness
To thick woodland mud beneath.

The nascent thaw
Is cruel:

A hard frost,
Then more snow,

Would be kinder.