Thursday, 18 January 2018

A poem by Sharon Phillips

Storm Front

Storm Brian has eased after the UK saw gale-force winds and high seas… BBC News


Wind blows soprano
on the washing line.

Down in the harbour
boats jostle and nudge:
plink sings their rigging.

Tonight we will light
this winter’s first fire.


Not blustery Brian who sat
in the golf club bar and bragged,

nor bitter Brian who nipped
plans for the future to rags,

but Brian who was beaten
until his temper snapped.


little white ghost in the rose bush
sits on a branch nodding its head

raggedy bag a tatter of plastic
waggles its legs as the wind gets up

flaps its arms as night falls
trying to dance in the dark


A pot of basil; raindrops
and a yellow-bellied snail;
a lilac tree crooked with age
and on a grey stone wall
morning glory’s last blue flower.

Sharon retired from a career in education in 2015 and started to write poems again after a break of 40 years. Her poems have most recently appeared in Ink Sweat and Tears, Picaroon, Snakeskin and Sentinel Literary Quarterly. In 2017 she won the Borderlines Poetry Competition with her poem ‘Tales of Doggerland’ and was also shortlisted for the Bridport Prize. Sharon lives on the Isle of Portland, in Dorset.

1 comment:

  1. Perfect poem for this morning, after a gale blew all night and snow fell heavily over the west and the north.