languorous weed and kelp
suckered to it’s sea bones
and splayed in mournful rest
burnishing to the wind
a drift of fleshy brine
memory upon memory
a soak over all these years
in my senses
it waits for the turning tide
captive to it’s wishes
to dance in it’s watery trance
once more

their bones speak
whispering from the solid earth
that gives them harbour

and the grimace
that their past has formed
must be met with a stoical eye

in the blend of all that has gone
and the focus we see
in all that is to come

at the echo of
our moons wish
cold waters scurry

its plague of ripples
a long drawn breath
back into the lungs of the land

urging the freedom of its flotsam
that drag like windless kites on
a pulled sheet from the bed

this brackish pulse
held to the will of another
fulfilling a promise

there is peace of a kind

in the early sun that wakes a quiet world
and the rolling green oak spotted field before me
crocus carpet patchwork slope that lay here waiting
while I was away in the worst of dreams
with wingless birds that sang their deadly song
and flocked to undo earth and men

there is peace of a kind

in the clear quenching flow of water at my feet
sinuous on its journey
giver of life
master of its course
untouched by the blood of the disappeared
no sickness to be carried away now

there is peace of a kind

in the benevolence of the air
pollen filled drift of warmth
that allows my eyes to smile and close
without wreak and havoc
breath cracked
sounds split and muted
torn with screams of the maddened

there is peace of a kind

but views of my world are skewed and drawn
innocence lost to indifference
this beauty that I see I thought was lost
these tears that fall are for the shame of us
and all that is gone
dust to dust

in other lives
I may have
scuttered these
fossiled lanes
a freckle of a thing
bootless in the mist
shrouding the memory
of deserted eyes
and delicate bones

I set my
wheels to the left
drive into
familiar ghosts
who I seem to have
marooned to live
their lives as if
I wasn’t here

I can look them
in the eye
they are as
comfortable as skin
and beguiling as
a breath beyond
my reach that will
not fill my lungs

 

under a gulls breath
I am rock
lichen loved bones
buried deep in the
bird bombed
lemon belled coated cliffs
each strip of wind
a little death
to a fug filled gut
and long held breath
flies to the brine
filled pools of sun
from this opened door

 

‘Wader populations are declining worldwide, with causes often being linked to the loss and degradation of habitats, increased predation, and a changing climate.’
British Trust for Ornothology

 

I am whole
where the wind washed
water runs in
seeking familiar homes
among the glassworts
marsh runs and rivulets

I am a singular audience
of plovers and godwits
scittering before the gentle flood
exciting the curlew’s curing trill
a salt scented avowal
that nature holds on

a primal call intones
in grief for its lonely wake
a wail that stills the wind
and spirits of the decayed
quiets the water
and a heart
urges our ashen
ancient souls to listen
and touch the edges
of what we once knew

here the water quiets
from the chaos of birth
mother ice

sliding cold this river’s teal
quenching the half-found
cleansing the threadbare

running free with ash
and sins and a soul’s gold
to be redeemed

a silken road of
the lost and found
for our spirit’s breath

exfoliates our flaking mores
with her curative line
to a merciful sea