Awaiting Wanton Winds Poem by Andy Brookes

White sheets hang as if forlorn, no wind to capture,
push out like billowing sails of an armada
to bring their flagging warp and weft to life,
to undulate and ripple.

hanging liminal on linear lines waiting for windy animation
like white capped mountains, ready on slopes
skiing or white polar landscapes that blind.
quadrels waiting to be painted with Mona Lisa smiles
or Campbell soup tins gratis imagination garish Monroe prints.

the sun hides behind gunmetal Japanese screen skies, fey, ambient air becalmed a stagnated breeze.
trees shadow them limp lime green leaves sag.
so they wait pegged and straight white so white
dead albino flags waiting as if forlorn.