Poetry umm er Saturday?

Maybe the beginning of the return of the words? Hopefully?

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Hello Red Cabbage Head readers,

Good news! It is possible that the words are edging their way back to me. Possible. I don’t want to look at them too hard, just squint sideways. They might take fright, and take flight again. So I grabbed these fees and gently coaxed them onto the page, let them arrange themselves with only very mild suggestions of where they might like to be. I have no idea where the idea came from, it’s been beautifully sunny today. So anyway, first sort of poem for a good few weeks.

Photo by The New York Public Library on Unsplash

It is not easy when the wind blows wild

It is not easy when the wind blows wild
and howling enters the brain,
shattering neurons to star blinding fragments
wrapping fog into creases and crevices 
staining emotion and reason black

It rips shredding soul-shine
making confetti of personality
whipping intellect to wisps 
to be carelessly set adrift skyward. 
I am lost and alone when wild blows the wind 

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So there, a softly gathered poem.

Till next time.

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