#landscaping
Landscaping the heart
How far have I got
Too many obstacles
is there more I have to tackle?
A lot of heartache
That has lead to vindication
Give me some reason
To get off season
Like droning bees in my ear
It feels like I have to tear
The vivacity in my body
Will someone take it back even if its somebody?
When will I acquiesced
The insurmountable agony
Hoping that the end
is not a poignant story
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 8:07 AM UTC
At harbour’s entrance, a mile or more away
beyond high water, hunkered down
the old Quarantine station
on a flat patch of land
etched from the tangles of coastal heath.
The Barrack buildings besieged
by brooding sky and sea
and choking landscape – bush
thickets clambering the steep isthmus
backdrop of granite tor.
Chaotic angled peaks everywhere
indecisive stony sentinels
offering no certainty in the grey cloud
chiffonade of morning.
Slow, lingering clouds
wandering in confused circles
or passing over, casually
bringing squalls and showers.
Washing the pock-picked stone
to glistening newness of a palette
of fresh browns – tan, taupe, fox-brown
chestnut to black murky sludge
as if recently erupted
from earth’s muddy tender skin.
A cluster of cottages
a settlement of sorts with cannon ports
and flagpole and a fenced graveyard
still telling stories of pathos
pity and waste filling this place
with a strange, pressing silence
an atmospheric numbness felt
in dread and gravity.
© M.L.Emmett
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 8:21 AM UTC