Another #poetrytogo commission:
Your voice is a constant -
Sea wind on the clifftop.
You are beckoning -
The movement of clouds.
Beach-bound and shadowed
I listen, washed and washing -
Salty, moon-girt,
Trickling and gritty.
Eyes strain high -
And finally I cast lines,
Climb into hard embraces,
Hand-over-hand - escaping erosion.
Here, muscles bunching,
I sweat and clench,
Then kick and swing,
A laugh swooping into air.
Blisters harden,
Graft gathers me
Against gravity -
Higher and drier.
Here your voice sings louder -
A tug to the final push -
I hook strong fingers
Into gravity and heave.
And here, gasping,
The sun's heat finds me
And I am singing your song,
High on the headland,
Seeing everything anew.
Another Poetry To Go commission - this time from a woman who wanted a metatextual poem about the difficulty (and joy) of writing (poetry), having fallen out with it after a certain high profile poet told her that she was no good at it. I think I tried to give her something with a measure of hope mixed with reality. Would love to know if it worked...!
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