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Poetry from within
   

Gardenstown – N E Scotland




Gardenstown – N E Scotland



North Sea lashes the grey-walled fishing harbour

tied up boats never still, ropes straining, constantly

fidgeting. Cacophony of clanking rides on waves

of the Force 10 gale. Folk in stone washed cottages

along Seatown, keep their bright coloured doors shut.



Along the seaweed straddled beach, driftwood, twisted rope

and torn lobster pots are just some of the booty thrown

clear as re-cycling for tomorrows beach-combers. Fulmars

cling in tight, landlocked on cliff-face; protecting chicks from

salt laden spray, which chills small bones and steals life.



Ruins of the Kirk of St John sit high on the headland

amidst bracken and sea-thrift. Erosion eats its way

with every storm. Gravestones lean and tombstones lie

with weathered words of names laid to eternal rest

‘fisherman, lost at sea, drowned at twenty- one’.





Overcast sky dims further into blackness, so at

4pm late afternoon is already night. The autumn

storm retreats beyond the horizon relinquishing

its hold over the land. Trawlers out of Peterhead

and Fraserburgh face the wroth of the sea now.


Jan Hedger


FootNote: My latest poem - written from workshop at Pant with Simon Fletcher & Jeff Phelps - theme was - The Power of Water - I was taken back to my period of living in Banff, N E Scottish coast