Doorstep Seascapes. Poem by Fay Slimm

Living so close to Atlantic rollers
Gives poetry motion. Thunderously loud
They break, subdued by gigantic boulders
Under towering cliffs magesticaly shrouded
In swirling mists. Sometimes desolate death
To battling boats, lost in galeforce storms.
Fishmen know they face ultimate breath
If they dare underplay fierce seas before dawn.

Yet, under crystal-clear skies, the moors shot
With yellows of gorse, on dazzle-white sands
Bare-footed walks, with decorum forgot,
Give toes golden warmth, feel soft as the bands
Of curls in a young girl's hair. Hosts of gulls
Appear, beachcombing. The sea, now a bright
Emerald green, gently whispers and lulls.
Caves now fill with clear gems of sea-blue light.

Smugglers abounded here once. Tales now told
Of shiploads taken by candlelit tracks
And hidden 'til sold. Now surfers strike bold
Poses on beachboards, 'tho salt-smells come back
To remind us seaweed still fills the Bay
As before, when miners dug tin below
In underground dark, and never saw day.
What hardships beset them we'll never know.

Seascapes on doorsteps are idyllic until
Negligence teaches that breakers can kill.


A pen-picture for Gayle.