Sunday, November 23, 2014


Out in a salty bay there are no flowers
To grow in water the colour of earth
No reassuring land would be under trepidous feet
That now walk upon the luminous pearl mussel shells
Dropped by gulls onto stony ground like bombs
Crack open these eggshells of the sea and dine
And I small blob of organics in this inlet of time
Cracked apart by the inequalities of ignobleness
Take tea at the Midland hotel at quarter to three
Soft, fruited scones and mugs of hot, steaming tea
But through window what vistas arise on the other side
Rolling English hills stumble like drunks into the sea
Mountains rise like titans into dense clouds of grey
There is no snow yet to cape the rocked shoulders
Of these Cumbrian middle earth sentinels that ward us