This chill

bone of my bones
flesh of my flesh
succor me now
in this hour of night
when the blush
has left the grape
the winds bring
the valley mist
rolling over hills
past the barren vineyard
toward the ocean current
seeking north though
not knowing why
it drifts from me
yet it lies deep
finding each crevice
in the veneer of life
bone of my bones
flesh of my flesh
why is there this chill
in my heart and soul

©2010, Donald Harbour

7 thoughts on “This chill

  1. Must be winter getting to you Donald. Moody, dark winter. Great to see you, like the big whale you are.


  2. “finding each crevice in the veneer of life” – the cold is seeping into me, too.
    Donald, this is beautiful, but we can’t have you being chilly: light the fire and cheer yourself up, that’s my plan for this drear afternoon.


  3. A powerful and beautifully constructed cry for comfort, and your words made me feel the chill. I also like the repetition in “bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh” which makes it very clear who the speaker is beseeching.



  4. Two fingers of Jura should do the trick and keep out the cold, Donald! The party wasn’t complete without you. This poem insinuates itself like the creeping cold.


  5. I like this storytelling voice. It would make a fine lead poem to a collection.
    I think winter has finally come to my neck of the woods–was beginning to wonder with all those upper 70s. Now I’ve gotten a cold, and like your poem, that makes me want to curl up with warm soup in a cup.


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