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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3362 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Searching for Tigers and Janet’s Foss Vienna (Carole Barley) High over the Tops, grey road blurs down into Wensleydale. Easterlies pull snow secrets from reluctant clouds, Dry-stone walls and sheep become smudged dream shapes. Malham is still green, the sky is the same colour as our eyes. We are searching for tigers, words to be translated from Sumatran can be thrown to the waterfall, emerge as reflections to be contemplated, dipped into, drunk from our palms. This winter has come late, there will be the crush and weight of snow before spring; A sudden gasp of spectacular white to melt under an ever strengthening sun. You tell of your dreams, they are moonstone, pearl; I am gathering poppies in a wheatfield. There is only the rush of water, bare tree shadows, the warmth of contact in this stolid landscape. You gaze further than the moon, I interpret silence with touch; Cold hand on your brow, we become July. |
