09 November 2011

Storm Door

through an open storm door
clouds race in
dirty striations
on crumpled parchment
stretched thin
across sour-milk sky
bamboo chimes
chant hymns
hollowed out
by rising wind
black limbs stripped
honed, poniards
stabbing dusk
into bruised submission
faint shriek of winter
banshee cry 
beneath susurrus
of dying autumn
battering an open storm door


  1. What a power lies in your words! One can feel the storm in this great poem.

  2. Thank you so much Martin, for such kind words x