The Poetry Marathon

Moonlight.

Moonlight.Soft moonlight.
Soft moon’s light.
After hours
Industrial parks,
Forlorn streets
Of lost towns,
And the coal-harsh
shores of sharp,
Melt down into
The blues and mauves
Of treasure island groves.

I remember the old stone bridge,

Putney, and Bishops Park.

The Pond.

Swans sweeping the Thames.

Blistering blue flashes,

A budgie,

Lost to its home, flying

Frantic in London trees,

All alone.

I remember floating in feathers,

Face down, unafraid,

Sinking slow,

White dress, a wing spanned

Across the water.

Going under.

Hauled out, to be born again,

Into lumpen life,

And sorrow.

When asked to introduce myself… I did. Here I am. Anglo- Irish, and proud of it. Crap at music, but hears the rhythm of words. Weird that! I write fast so I’m looking forward to the challenge. Hope I can finish it with at least one great idea to work on.

A woman of few words, I try to make them count. That’s me. I live in Northumberland, England. I’ve just started to write poetry, being primarily a prose person. Looking forward to creating word pictures.