Carna Poem by Martin Moore

CARNA

The haunting sound of a curlew slowly fades
As its source flies into the morning sun,
A sun that blinds me.
It makes the white sand sparkle, iridescent
This sun that binds me
To this extraordinary world, this solid land
Of rock and ocean and great expanse of sky.
Grey stone in Atlantic evanescence.
The very mountains, unyielding granite
Towering over their watery domain.
The receding ocean reveals even more rocks
They are all encompassing.
The dry, blonde sand under my bare feet
Must once have been so.
The smooth wet boulders, random yet uniform.
The dry, lichen encrusted giants
Megalithic tombs, monuments to time itself.
A hard, weather beaten landscape
Throbbing with the beat of life.
The faint lowing of cattle behind dry stone walls
Rabbits scratching at the dunes
The strident screeching of magpies
The braying donkeys across non-existent fields
Above the squabbling seagulls in the distance.
All harmonising, drowning out, discerning sorrow
On the barren, rocky shores of Oisinnamhara.