Where once a beacon shone, now light refracts,
Shivers, darts, splits, skims across a skein,
Cowers in the darkness, and breaks pacts,
A pale, weak, wan scattering that has been
Abused, neglected, rent apart; and yet…
Born of a cold star’s clays, too warm, but still
Apt to frame life’s own life, lest we forget.
Heat hammers in the South, and Northern chill
Slides grindingly, disturbing clammy seas;
The unseen worm infests our nests, brings ill
To tender recess of a cavern’s breeze.
And yet ... unbidden, bright heart beats a thrill;
For while there’s life, hope holds despair in reins
And pulses light into this mad world’s veins.

Flick through the album of our Summers past,
And choose the dried flowers tucked within the tome;
A family car trip, dappled glades to roam,
The smell of petrichor, lichen-embossed stone,
Gentle green moss inviting gossamer gaze.
Another page, a meadow bathed in sun’s haze,
Long feathered grass in hand, a switch to trail
Whispering ‘gainst rough trunks of bordering trees.
Turn soft to tumble down a churchyard’s angled flanks,
Laugh-breathing, crushing long and fragrant lawn;
Then hop across a mountain stream, wettened sheen
Varnishing soft-edged black stones, sharp drawn.
Eternal Summer of our childhood days,
Sustain us through the parting of the ways.

Soft stem
yields
         beneath
the nail,
         releases scent
in a sweet trail;
           our innocence
is thus
           reclaimed,
                        our future
            fears
remain
unnamed.

The mountain face looks blankly on, as we
Toil hard to rise at slow and thick-pulsed pace;
Pick in, then heave, short step, we can foresee
Our sluggish course, the rear of life’s quick race.
Sharp plunging tug. Hearts stop. We look, aghast,
To see dark, dangling, thrashing shape that flails
Like rags caught up aloft in swift, sharp gust,
Then sagging, doldrums sapping out the sails.
Wind whips thin keening sobs to sickened hearts
That strain hard to believe we can prevail;
Our coaxing, wheedling prayers bounce off ramparts
Indifferent to where we win or fail.
Then comes the choice. To look chance in the face,
Or cut the rope; another fate embrace?

And now we walk amongst the hardshored men,
Yet still are drawn to beaches, coasts and sand;
But now a short bond tethers us, and when
We hear the sea, it whispers overland
And fails to draw us in. This time; rockpools
Soothe our need to feel our souls float free.
When we forget, our pitched gait breaking rules,
We fasten rope to our four-legged quay
And walk alongside fleck-foamed, frothing fear,
Sidestepping slurping, *******, greedy rips,
Observing from afar, not drawing near,
Confining peril to our pleasure trips.
Vigilant, watching, ever bound to see
Eroding eddies of our lives at sea.

When we reached land, by chance, I met a sweet
Lighthouse keeper once of my ken. He looked
At my depleted crew, brought low, defeat
Etched in us, seagull-thin. Wordless, he cooked
Enticing morsels, steeped in rich cumin,
Savoury stews; until at last we seemed
Less dire flotsam landward-bound, more human.
Salt still burned deep in throats, we could still
Hear the ocean’s rock-fated, siren call;
So bench he built, with mast, to bear the chill
Of days cast low by dread horizon’s pall.
When cool waters beckon, lashed to that mast
We bide our landtime, ‘til drowntime has passed.

When life’s unfairness buffets you, and nigh
Each tilt is felt, each pitch, each plunge, each veer
At your very centre, and the sweet blue of sky
Becomes a blank, bleak tapestry of fear
For those who cling with wringing hands and spring
Before your eyes, faces bare, yearning sphere
Of balled trust writ large in orbs uncomprehending;
Hold fast. Wrap one arm tight around them,
Tied to the mast, feet planted wide and grounded,
Steer true; your clear stare’s tug will not condemn
But wind you in, where once you were confounded.
One steady point, however small, reels in;
And we shall somehow end where we begin.