When the wind blows
by Annie Jenkin

I read until my eyes sting
ignoring the objections from stiff shoulders
until they grumble then relax in relief
as the lamp is switched off.

Listening to the windows humming,
as westerly winds whip past
slipping beneath the Worm moon,
pulling clouds, darkening the night,
hurling down the river.

Sentries of street lights watching
as seas thump the harbour wall,
and a marina now a symphony of sound.
Its percussion of chatter
and gabbling of water

pester the topsides of yachts.
Below, anchors rumble
dragging across sands
and wind wails through rigging,
where halyards are clanging their masts.

Still the relentless rage of wind
continues its journey over the hills.
Undisturbed at home,
I snuggle down, breathing evenly,
safe in slumber.


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