Monday, February 17, 2014

A Poem by Sarah Flint

(Icelandic volcano grounds flights nationwide)

The air hangs
In the heat

Filling the gap
Between biscuit horizons

With a gentle persistent blue
Until the edges stretch.

There are no scratches
To scar the canvas.

A rising sky lark is the only movement.
It rises

Singing solo.
There is no harmonic

Of engine drone or roar.
The world stand still

Under a quiet clear sky.

Sarah Flint lives in the West Country of the UK and for several years has written about diverse interests including gardening, cooking and climbing.  At present she likes to write poetry.  She enjoys playing with words and tries to put them in an interesting order.  Her poetry has been published by The Pygmy Giant,
Message in a Bottle, and she has been runner-up in the Mountaineering Council of Scotland Poetry competition.

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