Poetry

At this late stage in my life I'm trying to write poetry. It seemed a logical thing to do after blogs, short stories, novels, and non-fiction such as the little booklets I wrote while on Ardnamurchan about the lives of some of the people there, about the lovely church of St Comghan's, and on the history and archaeology of the area. The decision was helped by the discovery of a small poetry group which meets every Tuesday evening in the village library, where we encourage each other to write and to look at the poems of our (much) betters. So I've dug into my memory of being 'made' to read poems at school and found myself thoroughly enjoying them again - 'Spanish Waters', 'Ozymandias', 'Morte d'Arthur' - and also discovering new interests in the poems brought in by the others.

So, for those of you who can bear it, here is my first effort:

    Guadeloupe

    The year’s first snows now shroud the bens
    laid by an east wind off the sea
    that lifts dark waves to burst against
    the harbour wall which runs below me.

    I lean upon the hard steel rail,
    so cold and wet, so very lonely
    and remember….
    a palm-fringed beach in Guadeloupe
    and a love that used to be.