Rococo skies of orange fire over
Cloudscapes of shifting mountains
And angry, purple dragons;
A silver jet trail gleams, a lance
Piercing the very heart of Heaven,
Bearing dreams on vapour as the
World turns and horizons flare
In tiny defiance of the night.
The cold clay of sodden fields
Lies below, framed by flooded
Ditches and the creeping
Shadows of ragged hedgerows.
Single trees, their spindly limbs
Raised in silent praise of solitude,
Are havens for rooks beneath the
Lone gulls and starlings' murmur.
Glassy pools of rainwater stare
From the darkness, unblinking eyes
Studying the dying light, whilst
Wary foxes drink before the kill.
YOU ARE READING
Fragments And Reflections
PoetryPoems looking at everything and anything not in my other collections. Here you'll find life and time, wild oceans and lonely coast paths, busy streets and empty hotel rooms, wild concerts and late night writing. All just fragments and reflections, l...
