On Pulton Shore

This is a poem

made by her hand

a poem of marks

you can read

left to right

right to left

any which way

an ascemic script

it tells a tale

late in the day

beside a river still

sunlit clouds vast

in a Maytime sky

down on the mud

and shingled shore

these found things

arrived at her feet

as they do when

waiting for her

dear hand’s touch

upon their metalled

forms rusted and

rivered by the daily

tides the diurnal

wash and dry of

weather and watered

river mud-coloured

beside boats bedded

in the river bank each

plaqued to remember

thirty wooden boats in all

that plied a river’s journey

there and back once

to and fro now

charged up high

on Pulton shore

a motorized trow

a top-sail schooner

Edith and the

New Despatch

steel and concrete

barges Severn Collier

and Mighty Monarch

lying hard into the silt

a yard at rest

a grave of vessels

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