Friday 2 December 2022


The weather has been unseasonably warm recently which has allowed us to have Sunday brunch at the beach hut. Usually it's too cold by the middle of November. This post's poem is reportage. I watched a man scatter ashes on to the sea.

the tide is just on the turn

not that he could tell

but it needs it going out

all the way down the worn salt steps

holds the handrail

he fears he might fall

stands on the thin rib of the shore

sea smoothed gravel

footfalls counterpoint the sea

the urn is light but heavy

weight upon his shoulders

unscrews the lid

grey ash onto white water

tips three times

on three outgoing waves

shakes the canister

grey motes on the air

retraces his footprints

I wanted the poem to be spare, economical in its description and with no back story. The focus on the action not the thought.

Here's Toumani and Sidiki Djabati. Such wonderful music.

Until next time.

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