Above us, wintry skies whisper
snow-sugared, gradual shifts
– it’s just a phase you’re going through.
Seeping blackness, the moon moves
through Earth’s shadow, orbital mechanics
foreshadowing apocalypse.
There is no man,
& you are not made of cheese,
but my polyphonic heart still sings with the wolfpack.
UK based neurodivergent writer Jane Ayres completed a Creative Writing MA at the University of Kent in 2019 aged 57. She is fascinated by hybrid poetry/prose experimental forms and has work in Dissonance, Confluence, Ink Drinkers Poetry, Lighthouse, Streetcake, The North, The Poetry Village, Door is a Jar, Kissing Dynamite, (mac)ro(mic), Versification, Crow & Cross Keys, Ample Remains, Sledgehammer and The Forge.
Latest posts by Jane Ayres (see all)
- ashes - 30th September 2022
- Winter Moon - 24th November 2021
- September Song - 28th October 2021