Wednesday, 13 May 2009

Tripping down to Devon

Tripping into Little lanes, hedges

 High with heather, lens cap our view.

Missing teeth of old stone barns

 Fill me with an ancient time, a wind sigh

 Aged with memory dances over me.


Through two lenses,

Yours and yours removed

You map our way with city feet,

Watch a swallow’s wing

 Blink at the sky.


We find her in the lambing barn,

A sweep of grey tied away

 From an outdoor face.

Treading down thirsty straw

We stand on the edge

Of mud as if a precipice,

Her thick tongue coats us in tellings,

Of unknown names and whispered coming homes.


By your quiet side my feet move

 On the bones of the earth and tie me

To my heritage, safe in the shapes of my childhood land,

My jigsaw bit fits.


  A May breeze carries a full berry accent,

 A deep-eyed girl puts a hat on the sun,

To award her self some shade.

Now wrapped in the chrysalis of a story,

Stick insects leap

From a childhood hedge.

Newspaper in hand, pink socks stand,

To see a plane kiss green ground.


 The sun cools itself in a bath of deep sea

 A north wind adds jumpers to

Woollen backed benches,

Caked in warmth, six shapes bend

In laughter, wheeled red ironsides rides in.


Lighting up the darkness,

A pit of fire sizzles sausages and fish,

Whiskey speaks a glow onto our cheeks

A Swedish candle burns a flame

My heart knew long ago

Its flickering waves sail on

Into the sea of night and left adrift,

In morning lights find its true anchorage.