In The Dead Of Winter


I’m fasting today, imbalanced

from a surfeit of English

murder mysteries — a dangerous

overindulgence.  What was I

thinking, opening the door

of my humble abode to this

variety of callous and cruel,

promiscuous and psychopathic

killers?  The detective, so shrewd,

inspects every canal and footpath

for clues, looking at what is present

so the hidden will emerge.

Perhaps he’s schooling me

in my own investigations, but

I can only bear that quirk

of a brow so many times,

his incredulity at the novice’s

wild guesses — before I stop

this unhealthy binging

and page through seed

catalogues instead, intuiting

the most organic nourishment

I can cultivate,

come spring.

Inspired by:  Variety, Overindulgence, Canal and Humble.

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

5 thoughts on “In The Dead Of Winter”

      1. Oh bless you. You are very welcome. I like to get to other Peopke’s Bligs as much as I can but, being blind, I am a bit slow,lol.

        Liked by 1 person

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