PORT ISAAC, CORNWALL, A POEM BY THE MOWDOG...

And Port Isaac

Steep,

I recall steep

And then turning corners

And tightly packed shops

And inns and cafes

And a final decline,

Deep.

Peace,

I detected peace

And the retreating tide

And listing, anchored boats

And ropes and chains

And a nestling harbour’s 

Grease.

Change,

I noticed change

And those slim streets

And obtrusive, parked cars

And restrictions and cobbles

And a sullen ambience,

Strange.

Quaint,

I recall quaint

And then loading boats

And parched lobster pots

And smells and signs

And a village’s flaking

Paint.

Bizarre,

I saluted bizarre

And the basking couple

And striped picnic chairs

And lunch and ambiguity

And a makeshift beach,

Extraordinaire…

Pete Ray 

Port Isaac: thoughts following my first adult visit, February 2008.