Against a porcelain sky the dark silhouette
of the cliff looms over the landing beach.
The rock chimney splits to form the path –
a tantalus to my helpless drifting.
It seems to pulse forward and back,
near, then out of reach.
The ever-present wind-whistle
drills into my head a fervent wish for silence.
In a pit of frustration,
unable to fight the riptide,
I long for slack water.
Alert to the slightest loosening of the sea’s grasp,
I scrabble to slot the oars in readiness.
Fortunes change. A breath of stillness.
Go, go, go. Heave hard.
Six strong strokes and I am aground.
With the last dregs of strength,
I drag the sturdy coble over the pebbles,
secure her to the cone of rock above the tide line –
old habits die hard.
Scramble, panting, up the path to the house,
breathe deeply: home at last.
Kettle on for that longed-for cup of tea.
I am reading a book about the remote Shiant Islands in the Hebrides off the coast of NW Scotland: Sea Room, by Adam Nicholson. It is beautifully written – to quote from it, “a vast poem written in heat and liquidity.” So you can see where the inspiration for my Wordle poem comes from – the wordle words shouted at me! I used all the words, then changed drink to cup of tea because that would be my need.
Do go and see what others do with the words here