14 September 2010

Fishing Village




















One misty moisty morning, the sky woke up as grey
And the people living locally cursed the dark damp day
The mountains were clothed in wispy shrouds,
Day-star stayed hidden behind the menacing clouds
The ocean thrashed and hissed at the shore
But the boats out deeper were losing the war
Salt-water rushed to fill each small hole
The Atlantic claimed each celestial soul
When the storm might have passed...
though the day was still grim,
The keeners mourned over a single woven jumper...
though no one was within.

Carry On Tuesday

6 comments:

Melissa Marsh said...

Love this. Hauntingly beautiful.

vivinfrance said...

This is a wonderful poem - so much so that I am going to break the rules: You have established a lovely lilting rhythm in the first three lines, but the fourth and the penultimate lines break the rhythm, and it could be so much better with the elimination of extra syllables in those lines.

Please forgive me if I have overstepped the mark.

Kerry O'Connor said...

I really loved everything about this poem - attention to rhyme and meter as well as to the details of the story. Something about the whole scene reminded me of a Dylan Thomas piece.

Flying Monkey said...

Beautiful. Really liked it but can also see where Viv is coming from (not that I know anything!!)

Perry said...

You had me until the last line. I don't understand it. (Sorry.)

Tilly Bud said...

The image of the empty jumper...so sad.