A poem of my new found dislike of flying.


I’m not sure when i decided i didn’t like flying. I think the boredom makes me think too much about it. The sea, however off the coast of the U.K looked beautiful. Also flying over southend pier (Britan’s longest pier) was a moment to savour the sheer length of it. A strange set of circumstances…

AlItalia

Blue cheese ripple.
Layered black island.
Floating.
Is there direction.

Outer heat flares,
Cold hands moisten.
When did it happen,
This alien fear.

Grim tin can,
Led by men.
Circulation,
No clean air.

All gone now.
Looking like linen,
Too there and back.
Covering many stories.

 

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Author: alanwhitfield80

Hello! I get about a bit so here about me first. I am a visual artist and poet who works within the context of fine art. My work is grounded in documentary, exploring the inner beauty of everyday life through various lens based media. Notions of nostalgia and social commentary are present, but from a definite northern working class perspective. Instinctively I exploring the townscapes of North Wales and the North West, often producing work that reflects the every day minutiae of life.

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