Saturday, 10 January 2015


I hear the wind whinnying like a herd of wild horses in the sky
Dragon wingbeats gust as they surf the clouds
Roaring a gale to the horizon

I see firs and spruces nodding their tips like drunken ravers
Whilst lines of leafless trees sway their limbs
Like a crowd of Glastonbury revellers

Half detached signs are flapping
Like birds with broken wings
And hats become targets for breezy snipers

People are blown backwards
As if struggling through a heaving crowd of negative thoughts
Until crosswinds propel them sideways
Kicked by a sadist PE teacher

And the smell is of sand and seashores
Forests and pinecones
Transporting me to fantasies of faraway places

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