'DRAWING ME IN': A NEW POEM ABOUT MOUSEHOLE...

Drawing Me In

It seems like a cold day.

Even mast reflections shiver and shudder

 Near each harsh, black rudder

In a dour, congested Mousehole quay.

I feel the need to be present there,

To breathe redolences of tar and smoke and oil,

Of fish and fumes and fishermen’s toil,

And climb inside the image to stare…

I curse the damp, I hear the screams of gulls

And haul myself ‘tween stinking baskets, ropes and coils of chain

And those ancient nets in poor repair and used to seine,

Which limp across the vessels’ hulls…

Weed bedecked mooring ropes, taut at bollards, fray,

Clinking at the strain and the tug and the wrench,

Reeking of that dampened wood seafaring stench,

As luggers and seiners lie safe in Mount’s Bay…

Pete Ray

October 2016

Just looking at the image made me want to climb inside it and experience the time…