Saturday, 21 May 2011

POETRY

Night is my day

by Miya El-Dessouky

Night is my day,
Morning my night.
My transparent wings,
battered from flight.

When I fall asleep,
I think of when young.
Flying round tree tops,
bathed in darkness.

But when I wake up,
I remember I'm old.
Waiting for the darkness,
to take me!


Morning in Southland

by Florence Sorrel

pylons marching
dominating the landscape
shrouded in mist
sun rising wearily
behind rain clouds
dim, damp, cold, bleak
skeletal figures
tirelessly keeping
the wires aloft.


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Ā ā Ē ē Ī ī Ō ō Ū ū
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