2005-03-22 22:30:06 GMT/BST
Here's a poem I wrote some months ago, called "Beneath Cloud-Ragged Skies":
A face that's as cold as the midwinter air
all framed by a fall of frost-silver hair.
Her skin is as pale as the snow that lies
over frozen ground. Her icy eyes
like clear, cold pools beneath cloud-ragged skies.
This was inspired by a woman who I used to see on the Thameslink train every day when I was working in Borehamwood. She doesn't know that she inspired this poem. Which is probably for the best, since poetic licence quickly took over from truthfulness. She didn't really look half so cold as this poem suggests.
If all you've seen of my poetry is this (and for most people it will be) then it won't be immediately apparent but I think I need a new set of metaphors. All my poems seem to use weather and seasons. There are other things in the world.
As an aside, I probably should've asked her out instead of writing poems about her.