by Robert James
This land describes a long sand curve
Coast, that waves have thought over
And wiped clean,
Where no one walks
Save a seldom, strenuous seabird.
Look inland. That world is a pool of ink.
On the nocturnal shoulders of the world,
Black firs observe an everlasting silence.
Safer is our fishing town that clings to the shore,
Like a young marsupial to its mother.
From the green beacon that is the harbour light,
A shag is hanging two pterodactyl wings to dry,
Grey sentry, dishevelled seafarer,
Watching the night drop anchor.
Away on the seaboard
Squid boats burn like vesper candles,
Gone to fish a wide school of stars,
Sailing the telescope of a sea-
Captain sharp as a skerry,
Stood at the bow windows of the retired sailors' home,
A poet who plays with creation
As he paints the ocean indigo,
Building the dark like a cairn.
Robert James Berry was born in
Redhill, England in 1960 and was educated in the U.K., Ulster,
and Scotland. Since 1991 he has lectured in English Literature
and Language in England, New Zealand, and Malaysia. He currently
lives and works in Selangor in West Malaysia. His poems have
been published in poetry magazines and journals in the United
States, England, Ireland, Scotland, New Zealand, Malaysia,
Sweden, and Trinidad. Most recently his poems have been translated
into German. He was a prize winner in the NST-Shell Poetry
Competition. He is married to Ahila. He loves cats, especially
his Siamese, Sheba, classical piano, and poetry.
on Some Emily Dickinson Lines ~ For
Ann Sexton ~
Meditation ~ August