Ross point wide open to common slap
back skerrs cow-samphire to the swab the granary the snook
waders look the puffin ternburrows overarch nessending
here a deaded whale a heave of keel heads
the sandham the sand ham the holy head braes
shivering chapel, bride's hole, cockly knowes
aloft broaches allover allmouth squalls of reeled sandeels
from oyster scaps neaped without a flood-end we have it
burrowed as cow-caving Cuthberts on the causeway
of the sea's waste Jack's waste sand's waste south lows
at long batt a seacow levelling troughs
seaweeding of a heading reach into the guile
the stiel of parton and fold soft transports caught out late
beneath the laddered outer safeties
of the skate road at neely and madge sea campion
all dead reckoned the midnight at three tide-race welled
back again curling as wave-cows into the cush-place
of holy island and all at slow sussurating cow-claps
of harbour itself harboured gathered and held face
as only whipping dawn would elapse
.
I was going to comment on this but it had gone. This to me is poetry as sound and feeling. It's like someone speaking in a foreign language that I only understand at a sub-conscious level. S2 in particular is lovely.
ReplyDeleteAmanda