poetry and prose
A Storm Called Eunice
In front of me, a massacre
by dark and crossed arms.
But the garden will mend
from this crystalline damage.
From tempest spinning circles,
and pitched storm spectres.
Phantasm thrumming and
requiem squealing at windows.
Our bare ghost trees cut from
card are yelling and coughing.
It’s carnage from a sunken sky.
edited 18/2/22 10.43am
Image The Storm by E Munch 1893. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting #apoemaday on Twitter
😂
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So far here it has been a bit blowy, but I have seen worse. Mrs B just spoke to her mum in Devon, same there.
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Yeah, it’s picking up here, too, but I just checked the met office site and the wind/rain is no worse here than it is in Cornwall, so hopefully this is as bad as it will get.
The main problem around here is always power cuts so currently every torch/phone is charging.
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You’re getting another cyclonic storm!! Sorry to hear that.
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Not a good morning here (Vermont, USA) either: Windblown sideways sleet-snow, single digit temps dropped to negative double-digits by windchill. Better days ahead, one hopes.
Love your work, Misky, esp that closing line.
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I’m even less enamoured with cold! 😂
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It's Still Life 
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