Mousehole, East View…
Like supports for young saplings
Of varying heights,
The masts of a huddle of vessels reach, stark and stripped of sail
Inside Mousehole’s muddled working quay,
Harboured safe from storm and gale…
Rugged, cemented, demented sea-wall
And obdurate sinister rocks
Form a dour, forbidding barrier to defend the village
And its small fishing community
Beyond the befuddled working harbour,
From ocean’s onslaught and depravity…
Nets hang drying over quayside rail,
Slipway creeps towards village store,
Clock-less tower peeps guardedly out at the wild, conflicting sea,
Adjacent to cottages in clumps, at angles,
With irregular stone-built chimneys,
Near coils of tarred ropes in heaps and tangles…
No public conveniences in the sparse foreground,
No sign of visitors strolling at leisure;
No parked cars, no holiday lets…
No, merely wondrous, a Cornish treasure…
Pete Ray
October 2018
Brilliant old postcard of Mousehole from the east…
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