Tuesday, 17 December 2013
Your pitch changes,
come this time of year,
rise and wail and chasing tail and whistle up the beach.
Overhead and screech,
shades of grey and driven rain and new found height and reach.
Of gulls -
soar and tip and skew the world,
dive and call and heady fall in sudden, sodden roar.
collar, teeth and hair to whip,
cut in half and sand storm wrath and woollen hood and mitt.
How I love the depth and tone and language of your script.
Of late -
sea and salt and darker days,
wild ocean, wild horses, wild wicked spray.
Roar and call of bitter seas,
tear and screech and race the beach,
winter wind and tide flung in to shingle, shore and me.
This poem features in my little book - A Familiar Voice - which is available on special offer until Christmas.