A couple of days ago I mentioned an anthology two fellow-writers and I published last autumn, The Moving Dragons Write.
Here is a poem from this, our first, volume:
Dark clouds hang in the heavy sky,
Cold winter time is bearing down.
Grim grey clouds like icy shrouds
Throw misty arms above the town.
Clawed by masts and skeletal forms,
The crowns of buildings underneath
Are islands breaking from this sea,
Like lone sentinels or craggy teeth.
In city parks, trees shorn of leaves
Stand naked, stark as fractal sprays.
There is no sheltered cover now
For squirrels making last forays.
Paths are strewn, a soughing joy
For those who run or stop to seek
The echoed scents of summer past,
From conker nuts of silken teak.
A factory whines, a dismal sound
Yet greeted well by those within.
And high and far an aircraft drones
Beaming up crowds to sun and sin.
Climbing over grey stacked clouds
It catches the last of this day’s light
Speeding South to warmer climes,
A man made needle flashing bright.
Now darkness cloaks deserted streets,
We light them all, because we can,
Denying the world beyond ourselves
By hiding life’s beneficence to man.
That greatest sight that all should see,
Starred space aspiring to transcend
And give rebalance to our world
Of earthly woes too close to mend.
© John Watts 2018
Here is a link to our anthology:
and to our blog: