bullets of rain
ricochet into the darkness
somewhere along the A38
location is vague
drawn am I to the
side of the road
for familiar landmarks
headlights halo
and stream white light
at odd angles
Juxtaposed
The road is liquid
obsidian
Into oblivion
Twixt Land and Sea
An iridescence tops spun waves
Foaming on the shoreline;
I am near blinded by the light
Of the setting sun;
Heaven’s halo
Between the island and the shore;
The warmth and depth of the
Autumn star
Brings heaven to earth
In proximity,
This liminal place
Twixt land and sea.
The World Spins – until?
Cuckoo
My world so small
Wrapped in sack cloth
As it spirals out of control
Into a picture too big to resize
The planet spins
Climate into oblivion
As politicians spew
Meaningless
Rounded vowels
Airborne like
Spindrift
A broken record-
Of rubbish stacked up on the streets
Ambulances in queues
What is the collective noun
For 15 of them- I wonder?
72 hours for a bed-
What NHS?
Energy we can’t afford
Energy we may not have
Empty supermarket shelves
And half the lighting
Thoughts are squirrelled in ringlets
As a mighty tsunami starts to build
We see the cracks
But no one heeds the message
Instead they argue
They fight
And the worlds spins on
Until…
Giving again
wind spun waves crash
and surge
in perpetual rhythm
pulling the pebbles
from under the feet
until we fall as
the seventh wave towers
and breaks
into orange
stained water
at the fringe the shore
from soft sandstone
cliffs etched
and leached
after storms
and we talk
where flint glistens
under the sun
and we finger the shapes
as the wind snatches
our things
there is laughter again
as the beach
gives once more
as it has before
my beach
beyond
the town by the sea
Autumn Equinox
Walk the wild side
Glitter glide through starlit skies
Breathe the air on
A crisp north chill
Drink in the season take its fill
Gifted days and nights
Enchanted threads
Spun silvered webs
Time spent
Time given
In equilibrium
Autumn Equinox.
Crossing the Bar
By Alfred Lord Tennyson.
I have no words for today except those of one far more accomplished than me. For her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II .
Sunset and evening star
And one clear call for me!
And May there be no moaning at the bar
When I put out to sea.
But such a tide that moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound or foam;
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell
When I embark;
For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place,
The flood may bear me far;
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have cross’t the bar.
The Last Breakfast
Breakfast outside
Regardless
Summer as taut as
An elastic band
Fully stretched
Eeking out
The last hours
Already there is change;
How we have grown to fear it.
The threads of
Halcyon days by sea or river
Begin to sever their clarity
As memories merge
And leaves fall to the ground;
Expectations out-way the reality.
There’s a slight chill
In the air
A soughing on
The fingers of the wind
Clouds across the sky.
Still the plates are laid
Honeyed figs and ginger
As an offering
For the last breakfast
A symbol of summer
To keep.
Little town by the Sea
Little town by the sea
Stretches the distance
Of pebbles and sandstone
Steep and precarious
Where once I walked;
Now no more.
Content though to watch
Oblique waves
Churning the sand
A roaring of the undertow
Perpetual motion
Pebble on pebble
Sharp flint rounded and smoothed
In timeless pursuit
Owning the beach
Time ticks one hour or two
My beach
My memories
Held above this shore
For all eternity.
Persistence of Memory
Time stops for nobody
We can tell the time at a glance Even upside down
Though not always in the mirror.
Two years past
An upturned watch face
Confronted me from my childhood jewellery box
I could not recollect it being mine
It was almost discarded
Tarnished
Still the gold glinted and worth a look
I turned it over
The box was clearly labelled
It was mine
How long have these faces been the same – time stuck – a memory ?
How long had this watch lain face down ?
Persistence in memory ?
I could not say
26 years at least since my mother could have put it there.
In my box
For me to find
I stare at the face
Try to ascertain when the time was last real.
To know the story
Resisting the urge to wind it on
I gaze at the champagne dial
I note the maker
Longines
Google does the rest.
1930s
Not Mum’s -her Father’s
Look again at how persistent the time is set
The urge to wind it is too great
I cannot resist
I turn the hands
In fluidity
I hear the tick watching them move Into the 21st century with Persistence drawn from the age of perfect movement .
It will look good on my wrist I note Trends favour the large dial
And cleaned, repaired so it does
From my grandfather to me
Persistence of memory.
Quadrille ~ for a summer evening
Evening light drawn across
Patchwork fields
Edged in woven lines
Of green
A chequered pattern
Spanning the valley
Sheep graze silently
On the steep slopes
Beneath the pastel sky
Pinks and mauves
Touching the hills
Alone in the stillness
Of a pastoral scene
Unchanged.
My Devon Life 