This week, Peter Taylor is awarded Poem of the Week for his piece Waking up to Snow. It's the second time Peter has received this award, so congratulations to him! Our thanks, too, for his responses to our Q&A, which we reproduce below, along with the poem.

What got you into writing poetry?
For me, poetry is my primary mode of expression of thoughts and ideas, Parkinson's having made others very difficult to sustain.
 
How long have you been writing?
I have been writing now for just short of seven years.
 
Do you go to any open-mic nights?
I do go to open-mic nights and really enjoy them – a great way to spend an evening with a bunch of human beings celebrating and developing their skills and enriching their lives. Beats watching telly by a mile!
 
What’s your favourite poet/poem?
Still Prufrock
 
You're cast away on a desert island. What's your luxury?
I guess, dull as it may sound, it has to be my laptop!

Waking up to Snow
by Peter Taylor

Woke up to snow today and was
glad I had to be up and out,
to be about before the silence broke.
I like the idea of white all round,
emerging as the night draws back,
revealing random perambulations, say,
of a fox that senses scents are dulled
beneath the snowy overlay.
 
My turn to tread and feel the ease
of printing paths across the land –
more clearly than a walk on sand,
earth, grass or stone; now I could
send a snow-code note to all those
watching from above. Who might they be?
I guess that with snow signs you must believe
and so say something others see.
 
First light snow alone, a brand new
canvas for the ice-smith, starting fresh;
man’s home for a moment washed, pure
and cleansed. Lay those words end to end
and you’ll get some idea of the simple
goodness in any layer of white –
come my night, turn me inside out and
cover me, bathed in bright moonlight.
 
A score more cures, I’m bound to say,
array themselves in my tidied mind,
alongside new opportunities – though
subdued in winter’s grey; a shaft of light required to
set on fire the snowflake chandelier,
to give the clearest view of works of art
that wait patiently, yet are anxious to be
freed from the shadows in our hearts.
 
My choice today of such treasures:
joy unmeasured, all those photographs
I’ve long meant my fasting soul to feast on,
of five, bright, young lights – now grown and
flown, in the sense that hugs all round
give way to softer caresses of thankful thoughts;
a touch of sorts and we are more than grateful for it –
and for the snow’s good work, of course.