7. Except in struggle, there is no more beauty. No work
without an aggressive character can be a masterpiece. Poetry must be conceived
as a violent attack on unknown forces, to reduce and prostrate them before man.
Come on let’s set fire to the library shelves.
Incandescent shore fired
Flies stones rage burns
Orange tracery
Bread house Volvo love
Bonnet Orlando
Puffs of smoke
A small cluster of horses
Deep waxy browns
A crow mobbing a marsh harrier
A flat alluvial plain
Glacial curvature of the peninsular
Parts of the shoreline are expanding
WW2 pill box on top of 17th century Martello
tower
The brutalist bungalow
Mad uncle Bertie
Excessive use of the word fucking
Setting a mean pace on the track
Starlings swifts and swallows
The telegraph poles
The dwellers
Sea Astor Musk thistle and English Scurvy Grass
Rust colouration infused fauna
Currents converging
Clashing and coruscating
Ford Escort father turning right across our path, his
cigarette hanging out the driver’s side window
So long it almost scrapes the road
Barrow burial mound and sightings
Cold war paranoia bristles amongst the ferns
Abandoned silos and the Pagodas opposite Orford Castle
Sea defence
Solid bungalows
Steady like the landscape
Sandy loam & flint
Shire horse escapee
On an indefinite tariff
Hopeless
Shaded forest lane
Living right
Relaxing right
Container citadels
10 stories high slip over the horizon
It cannot hold them
Offshore metal patchworks
Geological speculators
Surprised a hare shoots across the shingle
Said to be a symbol of rebirth in lunar cosmology
I saw two during the course of the blood moon
The significance of this is unknown to me
But under the water it was clear
Sometimes the abyss stares back
Berula erecta and
bellis perenniss
In the morning swim the moon is still high
Ultra arid
Frog echo
A lunar spit
Badger set under the road
Vast sky
Chinese ships
Variable heat haze
Minsmere Orford Snape
Sea salt exalt salt spray spit
A tiny crab too small to nip
Shell casing translucent
A thirty-year-old lobster
Shell worn and battered chips off the pincers
Barnacles seaweed covered
Smudged brown and red
The mongers’ wife picks it up it comes to life
Powerful crustacean
Like an Anglo Saxon king on a burial mound of ice
“If nobody buys him we’ll put him back”, showpiece
Curry plants lobsters eyes treacherous currents eighties popstar
Storm clouds gather to the west
Of the peninsular
Shards of white rain pulse through the billowing black
We watch the drama slowly unfold from the lookout tower
Surrounded by paperback books
It is some kind of paradise
Curtains of clouds distant rumbles
Malevolent black clouds.
