Monday, 14 February 2011

Gordon Mason


I do not see her out today,
only a sandpiper,
chased by salt-brown flurries.
Burnt coral is twisted on Moroccan cane;
a shelter for a half buried shoe sole.
A fractured scarf flaps navy blue.

I do not see her out today.
Twelve sinking steps apart,
a pair of Vileda rubber gloves
glow yellow: Professional 7½-8.

I do not see her out today.
Shells lie raped by a gull chorale.
On a girdle of skimming stones,
blackened limbs cool from the fire.
Empty tins of salmon-stuffed olives
have cupped wet sand.

I do not see her out today.
Cruzcampo and San Miguel bottles
are speared in the sand.
A nylon net strangles a bird’s neck.

I do not see her out today.
Termites play on punctured bone,
the marrow dead black.
And in a rock pool, a tan shoe drowns.


Peter Greene said...

Viledas are OK.

Is there really, truly such a thing as salmon-stuffed olives? I find that a pretty neat concoction, Roman-level weird.

Thanks for a very pleasing poem, Gordon! Perfect lunch breaker.


flaubert said...

Such lovely words and images Gordon.
Salmon-stuffed olives are popular in
Spain and also South America. Yum!

Pranavam Ravikumar said...

Very Nice Lines.. A good flow of thoughts too. My personal wishes.

Jenny said...

Lovely piece. Thanks Gordon!

Jeremy Blomberg said...

excellent poem, nice pace and imagery

Gordon Mason said...

Thanks folks; a wild morning on a Spanish beach was the inspiration.

Claudia said...

oh wow - this is beautiful

gerry boyd said...

The music and rhythm of this in astounding Gordon. I think the repetition really works and the voice has a stark quality reminiscent of Dickinson although it's, if you will, moral tone is far from staid old Emily. This is deep and, best of all, natural sounding. Great work!