In a message dated 02/14/2004 11:37:45 AM, [log in to unmask] writes:

<< Father and daughter


The car parked,

the path is a cut line [cut is?]

through heather,

skirts bogs where butterwort

and sundew glisten [like sundew]

and stick the drawn fly,

rounds boulders bus-sized,

left by retreating ice.


Cold air exhales from the sea

and dragonflies are grounded,

cling to grasses stiffly,

Devil's needles of black-striped-green.

He tells how rare

to touch their hairy backs,

run fingers on the edges

of biplane wings.


The sea nears,

then the bothy ringed by tents. [what's the bothy?]

Through the door, no space

between mats upstairs

and carelessly discarded kit,

nor downstairs round a crowded fire.

In the log room just

a sliver of floor

between the half drunk cans

and the vomit.  [very concrete]


Late afternoon

and the sick's not swept.

The pile of CD's speaks volumes.

Then there's the huddle of people

in the doorway

with another fire, singing

and the boat on the beach with fresh supplies.


On the shore

she makes volcanoes,

smoothes vented cones

and pushes lava to the hissing foam. [love this scene]

He lies

spine into sand

shaped, frowns

on a flat, flickering sea,

the high tissue of cirrus stilled, then says, [like cirrus instead of any ole
cloud; must be the Earth Science teacher in me]


"They're nice people.

They've come all this way

so's not to disturb anyone,

but they could be noisy

and it might be best

if we moved on."


Two bays along

a canopy of birch

leant on hour-glass sand [lovely]

is where they stop

to unpack mats

sleeping bags,

eat sardines,

and watch the sides of Rosbhein redden,

the otter's snake back

in the kelp disappear

till she opens her Narnia book,

to read of uncovered land.


Light fades. Night becomes sound,

each wave

like a jug of water

tipped over

then up again.


Gulls call,

dawn wind puffs from the sea

and still he can hear

so faintly it's like he dreams

the thumping of titans [great simile]

quarter of a mile away.


She wakes

when sun falls on her face,

sits to drink milk

mixed from powder and water,

packs and is ready to go.

He remembers dragon flies,

sand cones, her den in earnest,

and says then,

"You lead the way",

sensing how sure her feet

on the path home. [great ending]



Colin >>

I like this poem a great deal; the narration is lyrical.

kol tuv, Ryfkah