Thursday, 12 November 2015

Spit


Rubbish lined
path between
the track
the dock
the golf-course
three worlds collide
and end with beach
guillemots
curlews
oystercatchers
and other myths.


With
moss-covered roofs
Imerys looks
lens recounting
to the sea
china clay spillage
walk white rivulets
suffocating life
beyond the bay
where strandings
lie beneath
cliff steep
paths.
 

 
View point
of cliffs
and incoming
boats and planes
now youthful
expressions
of revulsion
self and wall
secret meeting
place
and hide
from the storm.
 

Saturday, 31 October 2015

begin

My voyage began in the afternoon...
 
dressed     for bed
a stroll to the desk
            and back
         to the desk
            and back
now to the window
litter the garden
leave the cat
curled hot
water bottle
 

and the clock
turned back
for day light
saving
follow
 
the wisp
into dusk
along field
partition 
down the valley
 

past the willows
ash and oak
                first  "shhh"
          shhh comes before
           the pheasant takes
                     off and flies
                              away
and over fence
and the breeze
of land agents
and haunted
houses above
the copse

the leaf face
jagged
and the whistle
 

of Tregeagle
emerging from
undergrowth
his tongue
in knots
of bindweed
his owner
calling him
 
 
 
through thicket
to where
the children
would swim
before
the world
was changed
in a single
viewing

 
the
pool half-found
in the
half-
light...