Treasure Island

Mark Heathcote

(22/03/66 / Manchester)

Wiry, dragon …


A magpie - cawed…
Hopping along the roadside verge
Betwixt, flight and fear
But knowing neither one!
And then the thought arose.
“Should I take it as a pet? ”
This wiry, dragon …
With flames of white-
Appearing; out of black-chainmail.

But, such virulent blades of flashing-steel
Could plough a road through a field
Of tranquillity, so, I shooed it …off…
Back like some mighty, gorgon …
Back into its shrubbery,
Without the safety of a lance!
I hoped it would take its leave,
And join - Joan of arc …
Amid another century back in France.

Submitted: Monday, July 08, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, July 09, 2013

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  • Pradip Chattopadhyay (7/9/2013 4:51:00 AM)

    such virulent blades of flashing-steel
    Could plough a road through a field

    whatever the crows are such lovable! your poem resounds with their indomitable spirit.10/10 (Report) Reply

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