I think this wants to keep going, though I am stuck with it at the moment. Putting it out there to get a bit of feedback. Cheers in advance.
Flood
The banks of the river have burst again
it spills out, rises and churns. Gnaws
homes, grabs hold of school buses. Opens
maw wide to swallow trees. It spits,
snakes out onto roads, transforms
land into sea fit for ships.
A flotilla of deck chairs, crates
and television sets ride tide, circle
sand bagged houses held hostage on estate.
A chassis of a car joy rides over
bridge, up and over steeple, above
roads and wheat fields, then
plunges deep, settles on sediment
where rust collects. Sepia tones
wash over wreckage.
1 comment:
I think I have found out what is going on with the poem! The ending seems to run short, stopping abruptly. I think a few more lines would tie it down nicely and make the poem flow better. For now I have mapped out the tempo in my head. I must find some words now.
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