Monday, 4 February 2008

Forlorn Point

Herewith another of Poet-in-Residence's postcard poems from his memorable Irish holiday. This was composed in a pub in County Wexford after a blustery afternoon on Forlorn Point.

Forlorn Point

An oilskinned man
crunches over shells
slithers over seaweed
boot ends a coil of rope
toes over a rag of net
an old scavenger foraging
in the setting sun.

A cormorant flaps
purposefully sunwards
like an outgoing pterodactyl.

What the man will take
from Forlorn Point
is the forlorn note
of an oystercatcher
the blast of wind with salt
on its breath and
the roar of the swell
crashing over the rocks.

c) Gwilym Williams

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