I need a poet she said
Like you can just pluck stars from the sky
And mix monsoons with cherry blossom.
Drowning in rainwater and petals
I grasp a beam of light and swing towards the
Clashes of the imagination
With big skies and sunrise
In this place
Where tidal water meets fresh water feeling
At the edge of the hedge.
It's a divide
Defined by concrete rings and things manufactured.
What we need is John Clare's stare
Without the instability of incarceration,
The ability to wing it through the changes.
Wind and rain rearranges the border
Disorder at high tide.
The county is getting smaller by the year.
Here there is an illusion of permanence.
Grounded by the plough
Take off is harder than ever
Now airfields no longer mix propellers and plovers
And a lay for today keeps the homesickness at bay some say
But the sky defies definition
The sea's on a mission
And the ground doesn't even ask permission before it splits
This is it
Elemental and blue
As blue as
As green as
As yellow as
Purple haze on the highway
Desert burns on the skin
Bats in the belfry
The turmoil within.
As a youth I watched the ships dock and sail morning and night
Got seduced by the light's reflections on the far side of the river
While my side snaked through the country to Wormingford and beyond
Disturbed only by boy entrants and fishermen.
I searched the shingle for clues
Sat on a wall where the road ended
And tidal waters flowed to the sea
And talked for hours to girls I wanted to explore the world with.
I lay on a mountainside and bathed in the midnight sun
I freewheeled down the Mini-Atlas
In an Austin A35
And wondered at the eagles circling below us
Traveling to edge of sanity as I knew it
I was taunted by the red hot earth's centre as I walked on fresh set lava flows.
Now I travel with a new generation
And look up at fault lines
Dividing the Hill Country from the flatlands in Texas caverns.
Earth and water
Air and fire
So many carbon combinations
Colour me liquid and paint me into the cracks of the planet.
Colour me solid and fashion me into a stepping stone to tomorrow
Colour me gas and burn me in a lamp of my own making
I'm there for the taking
And always have been.
The peninsular knew that way back
When it kept me a river's width from my dreams.