Wight

(First impressions of IOW).


Crumpled beneath troubled cumulus
the island
a badly shaken tablecloth
lies carelessly thrown,
its frayed edge chines
dipping their hems into the sea.

This wight,
a diamond crumb
harshly torn,
ripped from Hampshire's
fractured skirts,
crouches wind-blown-wild
as witches knickers like spinnakers
flap loudly in the trees.

To quench this tempest
dragon's teeth needles
slather in wild surf
and flippantly percolate the spume
skyward
in frittered foam cotton

© Graham Sherwood 03/2017