by Steve Tanham
Above the folded, faded parasols
Long-closed as dripping bathers left
To lave and lather sun-screen
From bodies exhausted with indolence.
Abandoned paperbacks part-read
discarded, folded with sticky fingers
in pages marked for tomorrow…
Point, mute, at the sky.
+++
Where
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Patterns like wild beasts’ pelts stretch
From Africa to seas once crossed by
Portuguese navigators whose outer space
Was ocean, vast, un-mapped and fierce.
+++
Laying aside the new notepad
No longer virgin..
Alone and briefly shamed,
I think of dinner…
…….ooo……
©️ Stephen Tanham 2024
Sun in Gemini 
I like this poem, Steve
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Thank you, Robbie! 😎
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We have been seeing some weird cloud formations down here in Hampshire too, Steve…
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What a picture Steve!
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Thank you, Di. Hopefully on many levels 😊
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Indeed! The sky is awesome.
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