Grimsby Poets Forums

I see waves when I carve sticks!
They rise knife-edged into coiled
Claws; then sadly shimmy off like

Drunken moths and crash like paper.
The sap-sucked pinnacle glistens
Sharply though! And so in my

Reticence I dream of squealing pig
Slaughter, of long tabled celebrations,
Of mountainous busts and beehive

Beards, of wily hounds and tomorrows
Visit to homebase.

Hi K,

I do like your carving, and the linking to waves and pigs - and finally taking the old rural/coastal to modern urban reality in that one last word !

Very well done.

Thanks Digiwizz,

Appreciated.

cheers
Kris