Island Fiction

I could murder a cuppa
mutters a knitting voice,
her claws purling patterns
the Fair Isle way.

The kettle whistles, the brew
as warming as a jumper –
outside gulls rock n’ roll
drunk on a burgundy sky.

The winged ways gleam
in those full-throated, fish
-happy voices. She hears
the thrill of fraying waves.



Phil Wood was born in Wales. He has worked in Education, Shipping, and a biscuit factory. His writing can be found in various publications, including: The Poetry Shed, Runcible Spoon, London Grip, Califragile.