Gale

When this feisty wind blows, how is it?
Will our bonds fall? Our stays loosen?
Will our breath slow? Our fists open?

For sure, our bonds will not fall, nor stays loosen,
nor our breath will slow, nor fists will open.

We must pitch our tent then, tied and tethered?
We must build our base then, trussed and trammelled?

Ah, but unpinioned thought will out and grasp the gale,
shaking the land-lashed by the ears,
unleashing us, in all honesty, blow by whipping blow.

Published by

Julia Dean-Richards

Julia is a writer and performer living in the Shropshire hills. Her writing is a product and expression of the love she has found whilst journeying through the most difficult times of her life.

11 thoughts on “Gale”

please feel free to comment on these poems - all feedback appreciated. :)

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