©2013-2019
I found an old jar in her kitchen
that for long had remained unused
it was like one I remembered from childhood
that I used to cling on to
the trees in my mother’s garden were many and beautiful
though she lived in a small apartment
by the sea
of the silent guest at her table
she would talk to her family
yes the trees in my mother’s garden were beautiful
but the jar
I threw into the sea
of the silent guest at her table
the sea has no memory
strands interwoven at twilight
amber at eve in a braid
we used to tell stories at bedtime
impossible stories we made
such a strange dance we were dancing
a dance we were taught by the sea
to whom do you wave on the shoreline
to whom do you wave if not me
when conversation became difficult
I made for the shelter of the trees
looking back across the sun-bleached field
to where the party was in full swing
appreciating the amplitude of tall silences
that I could navigate more easily
from there I could see you slowly circling
coming to rest
before finally heading out
navigation
ascertaining a position
calculating the most favourable route
between one point and another
even when there is no point at all
navigation
just moving around
it takes skill
practice
finesse
when even gentle waters
can seem treacherous
safer amid trees
they don’t move around
at least don’t appear to
I whispered a quiet thank you
and plotted a course back
four glass coasters
bought at Lyme Regis
when the children were young
and life was easy
life was never easy
photographing them now in sunlight
they seem fabulous beyond compare
blue from another ocean
I never knew existed
where sea urchins devour whales
amid bubbles of aquamarine
and half-formed monsters
guard a pirate treasure hardly seen
at the time
joy passes too quickly for us to grasp
life is a bauble
a theft
don’t expect miracles
when the miracle has already passed
lost in a sea
preserved in glass
on the way back to the mainland
I met a man who said he could see angels
I dismissed this as fairytale
but he was adamant
now as dark waters of night gather in
I remember him
and realise I am still crossing
the waters around the little bay
are wild and inhospitable
always I sail away again
beaten by the currents
yet always I return to my beloved shore
my rock
my continent
my dark island
[first posted 20 March 2015]
on the second night we sang songs of abandonment
and on the third night
and the fourth
and on every night
until the welcome guest said to us
why do you sing these songs to me
for these are the songs sung by the sea
and sung by the wind that shakes the trees
sing again that song you sang before
for that is the most terrible
and beautiful of all
but none of us could recall
any song that came before
tales were told at table
that night
and when it came to my turn
I said
why is it always my turn
and the answer came back
you’re the only one
here
so I recounted the days of my
youth
which I missed grievously
and told
of sorrows and lost loves
and worse things
wearing my heart wide open
recalling
the story of the whale mother
singing
to her stolen calf unceasingly
even
from another ocean
untouchable is what we become
unreachable by anyone
an old boat
holed and beached
adrift in memory
fingers of the restless sea
clawing the shingle for purchase
grant us peace and grace
the shelter of a much-loved face
and harbour lights
harbour lights
as we turn to face the night
untouchable
[first posted 7 Feb. 2015]
I rented a beach hut for the week
and kept it shuttered
it was golden inside
with walls of shimmering azure
beach huts in the rain
any colour you can think of
isn’t it a shame
no one’s going bathing
*
when we finally shed our bodies
and change
will we cower behind towels
on the shore
or will there be beach huts
I do hope there’ll be beach huts
any colour you can’t think of
beach hut
