Brancaster in Autumn
Wind shaking the reeds,
ceaselessly weaving bright shafts,
a fence hiding – what?
of foam, as the gleaming scrolls
unfurl towards me.
What is it, this star
that glitters from a tide pool,
darting and turning?
Cloudy sunset, sands
streaming with mother of pearl;
nameless, these colours.
Twilight and sea-mist.
Unseen geese bugle and yelp
– hairs stir on my neck.
An earlier version of this poem was published in The Best
of miniWORDS 1995, ed. Kevin Ryan, Charnwood Arts, 1995
© Gillian Spraggs, 1995, 2006
page added to site on 25 February, 2006 |
last modified 24 November, 2006