Poem 40: Coombe Martin 72

hangman both, hanging me
to sea grown rocks below
lovers always
in games of green and grey
returning, leaving, racing back
to cover with gentle running fingers
smooth white curls
fading into pools
of dark ground stones
causing the bed to rise
in terraced angles
of sheltered rock
two brooding men
dark backed in solemn counsel
the past
in mysterious flags now furled
helmet and lance
fielding the lists in sunlight
as from their shoulders
southward in silver mist
the shining coast
a bride waiting
as the brothers northward
consort to inform
the wind of its movement
the sky of its outline
and the sea of its limit.

____________________

what a beautiful sight

on a sunny

March morning

Brilliant and free

a little old lady

feeding Gulls

by the sea.