Now time rattled, rain settled,
Rouge rusted,
Your tin lace lichen
Falls in flakes
And lets in the sky.
The clunk filled tank
An empty gong.

Then the fire storm,
The gale.
Metal kites,
Trees iron wrapped,
A tin card collapse,
Ashen grey.

And at last
Tin on screaming tin,
Jutted and jagged,
Square frisbied
Onto the tip.

Wind clanger, rain drummer
You give a mean, magic, metal carpet ride.

© Nola Firth

Peter Macrow,
Tasmanian Times Poetry Editor.
Tasmanian poets or those with a Tasmanian link are invited to send up to 5 poems which have not appeared previously in print or electronic media to:
.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)

For the complete collection, click here: Poetry, Peter Macrow



Nola Firth

Hot, tough and corrugated,
Blue trademark stenciled,
Solid, sun-creaking sky
To my young inland verandah eyes.