The sea laps the shore,
whilst the sand receeds into
its cold blue temptress.
Oystercatchers sqwark,
their long beaks beaconing
the summer solstice.
Upon the clifftops,
weathered walkers feel the breeze,
adrift by sundown.
Day 0 - End to End Trip Poetry Works.
04.30.2025
Sullen would be onset of grey, indivisible-dawning;
Soon, lifting mist dissipating beneath the brae.
Comes then a gentle heat arising with the morning...
Thus the remaking of another new, glorious day.
Sun-kissed slopes now aglow with purple blaze,
Vast moorlands slowly stirring from quiet slumber;
Clamorous whaups, hanging above the veiling haze,
Burbling down to disappear into the tangled tundra.
Together, paired oystercatchers pipe in rapid flight;
Skipping wheatears explore dry-stone walls.
There, old Barjarg, aglow in Junes vibrant light,
And I awakening to the hidden otters whistling calls.
Oh! to stroll once more upon the Cree's hallowed banks
Inside the sanctuary of her jealously guarded hills.
When tramping through the myriad of dew-drenched ranks
That had across the sheep-strewn meadow spilled.
If I but could joyfully follow the meandering course,
Again, of those rocky, gurgling, opaque, amber waters.
Thoughts, such as these, that surrender to a remorse...
Nought but wistful memories that provoke to taunt us.
The sea breathes
Gently in and out,
It seems to sigh upon the breeze.
Waves sparkle
Like liquid silver,
Dappled diamonds on restless swell;
Advancing
Gently up the shore,
Relentless, driven by the moon.
Aromas
Of rich dark seaweed,
Distinctive halogenic nose.
White egret
In rock pool dipping
While oystercatchers scream on by.
Eternal tide,
Pumping in and out
Like measured concertina strokes.
Mesmeric.
I could watch for hours,
Lost in timeless fascination.
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