Swooping

A day of playing my melodica, not my first choice of instrument, in the Persephone Women's Morris band means I am happy, satisfied, darker skinned, pleasantly knackered but probably unfit to present anything near a polished poem.  Excuses over, I have used a prompt provided by Matthew Sweeney and John Hartley Williams in their book Write Poetry and get it published.  Ever since this book was recommended me by my regular poetry tutor, Sally Baker, it has been well thumbed and used.

The exercise is called Voodoo and gives a strict set of parameters to be followed. I followed these, then heavily revised what I had done.  As ever, this needs a lot more revision and adding to.

Swooping

A ruin, a ruin of boulders next to
the sky, the sky, the sky, all over today.

The crumpled newspaper lies on

the seat opposite. The woman snuffles,

nuzzles the tissue.  A falcon glares ...