Ian Glass






It starts with a whisper,

closing from the West

ripples across stooped hills,

grows grumbling to a moan.


Light dips behind low clouds;

wind presses clothes to limbs,

then rain slants sideways

cold from the weighted sky.


We crouch by tall stones, curling

weakness behind their enduring bulk;

safe in the hollow of the moment,

while the day blows into tomorrow.




Ian Glass was raised in Northumberland, lives in Worcestershire and has two grown-up daughters.  He trained as an engineer but when not writing he works mostly as a computer programmer.  Ian’s poems are contemplative and inward looking, unless they are about monsters, thermodynamics or the Worcestershire section of the M5 motorway. His poetry has appeared in Ink, Sweat and Tears and Algebra of Owls.

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