I went to Penally and,

caught down poems,

from the land, and the sea, and the sky,

A Viagra for the lack of words,

When words from life run dry.

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Penally beach path

Black plastic dog shit bags,

Strewn with carless abandon

‘Gainst clear, blue sky

And cold, fresh breeze,

A black stain,

Tarnish on the Pembrooke,

beauty ways,

You inconsiderate

selfish, dog shit vandal,

lacking sense,

where sensitivity should engage your being,

Amongst such

elemental wonder.

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Bright sunshine falls across grass fountains,

Sparkling against the dark green sod,

And dune crakes chorus their fishwife chatter,

Conversation with talking but no listening,

Sweet trill and chaff and coarse, guttural croak,

Pervades the furrowed dunes,

Whilst sea falls in wavelets upon the shore,

At pre-turn flat sea,

Beneath the dark faced island.

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They stand,

Hand-in-hand,

In their elder days,

absorbing view of sea, of sky, of sand,

of bird, of wave of weed,

Sky to the horizon,

Looking forward,

Peace, a shroud of the land,

surrounding them,

enshrining them,

At peace together in

their Elder Days.

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Surging urging, brown, dense molass,

Upheaving through harbour gap,

Foaming deluge broken, unspent,

Over angular boulder castlement,

And with weighty mass continuing on,

To swell and play,

Mongst boats,

In harbour,

Sheltering,

From the upwelling foray.

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