Counterpoint

Counterpoint

The roundness of a pebble warmed by the sun
fitting comfortably in your hand.
The coldness of a snowball moulded and firmed
by bright red fingers in soggy gloves.
The comfort to toes of a sheepskin rug,
warm on a winter’s night.
The pain to your feet of a shingle beach
as you stumble up from the sea.
The sting of salt water on a grazed knee
sore and red from a fall.
The bliss of a hot bath, scented and steamy
after a long hard physical day.
The softness of skin only a few weeks old
crowned by a toothless smile.
The callouses and scars of leathery hands
that have worked hard for 80-odd years.
The quietness of dawn when day holds its breath
the silence increased by a blackbird’s song.
The noise and intrusion of the strimmers’ roar
as neighbouring men get their gardens in trim.
The fear and confusion brought on by dreams
weird, disorientating and real.
The bliss of sleep to a tired body, and a mind
at peace with the world.


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