Scrapyard Poem by Rhona Aitken
Scrapyard
Cleats stack
tangled in red-flaked ruin
tight against the harbour wall;
useless chains snaking
cankered ropes.
Salt-beaded,
flushed with corrosion,
colours flare -
beautiful
at the rusting corruption
of their death.
Friday, July 3, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: color
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
The content of this poem is something that caught my eye one late autumn in early evening and bright dying sun. The colours glowed. The title 'Beauty in death' came to mind.
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4/23/2024 9:19:09 AM # 1.0.0.1119
