Poetry

Staithes, April 2015

[1]

We are
peppered
from
on high

in
audacious

cascades

stone

flecks from

the cliff
face

[2]

Sheltered by the
lifeboat station's
charity shop,

we hear an anecdote
of a Tory councillor
who said a village path,

though dark as coal,
needed no streetlights:
‘just let your eyes adjust’

[3]

Insurgency of waves
fomenting at
the cliff's
haughty toe,

energies dispersing—

High tide is past. Kittiwakes
snatch crabs from surf.

Pete Green