Today’s poem was the winner of the 13th Kathleen Julia Bates Memorial Writing Competition.

ROAR

I stood at the glass barrier,

looking in.

One lion, facing away,

gnawed at a raw bone in the grass;

one lion stood

on the prow of the hill,

looking out.

This one was not cowed –

his maw opened

and his roar filled my ears

with a storm over sea,

with the wind on the plains,

with a rolling thunder

deep and wise and proud.

I shivered at the sound,

and I wondered

which of us

was the prisoner.

 Jaz Stutley