The Storm – a poem

There is comfort in the storm that hammers at your window.

As you lie in bed at night, embracing a warm pillow,

It begs to be let in… And you are almost tempted, peering

Around your curtain to see the bins overturned and emptied.

Orange street lights are glaring into deep puddles as

A caught-out-couple shelter, huddled, underneath a shop front.

The neighbour’s dog barks defensively while a girl on the bus

Watches him, face to the glass as her red carriage wades slowly past.

But you don’t let it in. You draw the curtains and you lie back down,

Listening and waiting and smiling with your eyes closed.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s