cwm ivy to burry holmes

 

cwm ivy to burry holmes 

across the sand brook on a foot carved path

through the grass of the wind swept moon

a palm slapped face above a restless sea

for there is an island and needlessly soon

enough in an eye of a bay in the knifing

of some spume off a distant bight

and there be the worm as proud as punch

tho’ the visage is as dark as night

and a rainbow above the marram grass

mottled as grey as a sparse haired man

waving in a wind pushing back to front

and as weathered as a cronked out van

dominoed in a holiday park subduned 

lined up like the light horse brigade 

into the valley of the curlew gulls they run

to hide from what is not man made

but the rage of a land at a sea

in its rage at the impudent land

stir crazy the peninsular dagger bight

for the tempest is close at hand

and in turning we collar the rising bile

the pelter off an errant isle

running the gauntlet of a rainbow’s scorn

the back stepping of a fast lonely mile

under a sky as wide as a jellyfish maul

as blue as the push of a scattering cloud

as heavy as a thought on a cold sleet day

the shriek of the wind so loud

so loud in the ears of colder blue

the ruddiness of a face in foil

run tears that rasp the wind’s desire

and every step on the return is toil

a figure alone in silhouette 

far away is the low laying worm

and the brass suns of a day in need

of a deed of an idea in germ

to take away this day in a backpack tight

to file in a story of long been told

that this feeling so deep in the bones of cold

well you know how it feels just right

just right my friend

my friend just right

damn not the wind 

and the rain

and the flail

it feels just right 

just right my friend

all in the world’s just right