The Fish are Flying in Trent Come, my dear, it’s early October, and the fish are flying in Trent. Few yet know, and your mojo’s lit— don't miss the year’s event. Whether Italy, Dorset, Germany, four in the good ol’ U.S. of A., it’s not geography ignites their wings— it’s the colour-wheel of your day. Oh, the sky’ll be yellow and mauve, rooftops purple, green, burgundy, blue. In frothy air with gulls they’ll soar, all for the genius of you. You'll see them rise in hundreds and tens from storms across the sea. They’ll float like leaves in the yellow breeze, leaves of the mackerel tree. Summer’s gone, so some may flutter, slap upside your head. Best grab a brolly, slip on a mac, catch the few that fall down dead. It's true, my love, antennae are abuzz this shimmering autumnal morn for the fish that are flying in Trent— your latest miracle being born. © alan girling *Check out Dale Patterson's art and poetry here at the Open Arts Forum.
10 Comments
8 more comments...No posts
how much richness in your writing
what a huge pleasure
life has another meaning when I meet people here who encounter "careless moments"
in their daily lives to remind us how precious life is! long live to our poetry ✨
Being relatively new to your work...your poetry is inspired a piece of art that catches your eye?
I enjoyed this one!