Portland Poem by Andrew Shiston

This Island, this out-thrust spit of land
At the end of miles of stone
Where on the farthest cliff-top
A lighthouse stands alone
At sea four rushing tides collide
Sending giant waves againdt the cliffs
Commiting suicide
Leaving scars of giant caves
Filled with dripping stalactites
Long dead blackened dragons teeth
Open mouthed about to bite
Spray blown by the wind
Falls where only shadows walk
And sweeps across dark-faced quarries
Disturbing pools of whitened chalk
Under travelling skies and empty shores
And distant collapsing seas
Against the wind only gliding seagulls soar.