The Still

Inside the shed
A vapid dankness hangs
Musky-sweet; haven
Of smell and sound.

The blue flame of the primus
Lightly caresses the cylinder
Of elderberry mash;

Vapour rises
And careers its way
Bubbling
Through a spiral
Of copper coil.

My father lifts a china cup
With no handle,
And draws off the clear liquid
He sips, pauses and says
"It'll need another run".

^

Biography

I hail from Co. Armagh, N. Ireland and have been dabbling at writing prose for about 10 years. I've had short stories published in " Awakenings" and " The Resident" I have only recently decided to try my hand at poetry and "The Still" is the first accepted for publication.