It clings to the cliffed shore,
to the wintered face of the thistle path,
to the fingers of the old man's glove
as he waves his memory homeward
In that breath between come and go
she moves up from the bay;
gold turns her stride,
the line of her dress,
the soft sea pulling at her feet
When he reaches out
and the frail birds fly
and the sun and the sky
have married deep into the sea, it clings
Even as his shadow threads retreat,
it clings, even now as it dissolves to mist
Categories:
cliffed, america, analogy, anxiety, assonance,
Form: Free verse
NORTHERN ENGLAND
Steep hills and sudden
Gouged by ice, and water-formed -
This is no civilized landscape gentle
With demesne and orchard
And sun-kissed downland copses;
It is the terrain of warfare,
Of Northumbrian tearing at Scot,
Of Hadrian walling off the terrifying Pict,
Where the sea is held by Marsden’s cliffed face
And Cullercoats huddles in fear of a storm.
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Other poems of mine, similar to this, are available at
https://www.fictionmagazines.com/magazines/five/
Categories:
cliffed, home,
Form: Free verse