Warning Sign Poem by Alistair Graham

Warning Sign



The smell of damp awning
and the dew, beautifully sweet
then the Sunday oven-sun
Later; bread toasted at supper

We sipped wine that night in
Wexford from plastic goblets
under high canvas.
And in the belly of the night,
in flaming-hot sleeping bag,
I awoke to grandmother standing;
her long grey hair, in heaven I believe,
warning me.

Five years, before grandmother standing;
the cross, with a skin-and-blood-man,
appeared on the wall.

Now; I have need of the council
with speed bumps, barriers
and neon signs to warn of locusts
and canker from new wine in old skin.

Sunday, December 17, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: fantasy fiction
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Dr Dillip K Swain 17 December 2017

A great write . An elegant poetic touch of personal experiences

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