Sunday, January 27, 2013

Two Poems by Sarah Flint

Bracken Air
On a June morning
I swim in slow motion through thick bracken air
The day encircles me
Kissing me gently awake
Licking night sweat from my neck
Making me clean
Rousing me from dreams of midsummer
Chasing grass pollen from my eyes
Running its fingertips down my spine
Tasting the dew on my lips
On a June morning
I swim through thick bracken air
Moon Raker
Gold morning following Dorset curves to
An ozone breeze above a fallen beach.
Under the Diamond Slab
The sea snapped at my toes
I hugged the rock
And felt the warmth.
Gulls played in the wind,
Sea shell wings against a ceiling of
Blue blue.
I smelled sea on my tongue
And closed my eyes to see the view
Of walls and waves
And a beach that went on
A pearl moon hung in fullness
Over fish and chips
On our fingers and pink sketched sky.
I danced in moon shadow
And drowned in my feather bed
Sarah Flint has been trying to put words into good order for a while. Originally writing about all things green and horticultural she now has had success in the world of poetry and flash fiction. She has been runner up in the Scottish Mountaineering Council poetry competition for 2 years running and is a regular contributor to The Pygmy Giant.

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