Jagged shafts of air slam against my face

Just discovered this poem which I composed several years ago when I retired and  I briefly joined a poetry writing group.

The March Gale

The harsh wind drives dancing reeds to frenzy

Steaming hills cascade clouds over rocky crags

Down in the valley

Shards of sunlight are scattered to distant horizon

Each exposing a litter of glittery debris

Which flickers briefly

Then is covered by the shadow of raging clouds

Jagged shafts of air slam against my face as

I struggle upwards onto flat moorland

Where a spinning, screaming maelstrom batters my senses

And leaves me clinging to the edge of the world

Alan Taylor

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