FIVE WINTER SCENES: LYMPSTONE: 1977

These verses were first published in Devon Life in October 1977. They were also runners up, we was robbed, for the Gladys Hunkin Poetry Prize of the University of Exeter. They are reprinted here by permission of the author. For the record, the Mr Bell of the fifth scene was Mr John Clapp of this pish who lived opposite The Green and who died some thirty years ago.

1.

With noises borrowed from the old men's throats,

the raucous rooks about the chimney pots

are croaking out the old year, in the new.

Though January looks both ways, the old

look only back. The black rooks have foretold

this new year's cipher on the headstones too.

2.

At the twilight calm when the smoke soars lazily,

out of the winter haze drift evening swans,

ghosts on the polished edge of the filling tide,

five white souls and two grey little ones.

Five hard working, chapel going fellows

and two, alas, who had their peccadillos.

3.

Across the water, field and winter tree

sketched with a bamboo pen.

Like the shadow of Azrael's wing, the pewter sea

draws back and leaves old men

creaking for one tide more

in their long sea boots.

4.

At low tide the banks wrinkle and fold like an old skin

and under the long abandoned limekiln

old anchors, links of chain,

rusted and forgotten,

rest in the mud.

Here too the old men

who stand and gaze with dimming eyes,

dreaming of wild green years and wild green seas.

5.

As sure of resurrection as a Wesleyan

the winter sun goes down in fierce glory.

Old Mr. Bell has set aside his Bible

and tottered out to watch the setting sun.

The glowing banks are golden backed Leviathans.

And Mr. Bell, who fears the Lord's good name,

reminds the Lord his prophet has predicted

a rising sun with healing in its wings

and Mr Bell shall frisk like any calf.