Portscatho: Out Of The Greyscale, Into The Colour…
Unkempt and dishevelled, foreground cliffs,
Their brush tousled, spiky and awry
Hide stern rocks, darkened weed and a solid quay wall,
As a group of small fishing skiffs,
Beached, redundant and huddled lie;
Like driftwood models, greyscale cottages form
A risky combat line in thrall
Of ocean, gale and threatening storm:
And old Portscatho tarries, locked in a dream,
Ragged and drained of life and its faded gleam…
Cut back and levelled, foreground cliffs
Their autumnal brush spiky and spry
Hide harsh rocks, blackened weed and a blunt harbour arm,
But no fishing vessels or small skiffs
Beached, moored, or redundant lie;
Like a model village, jaunty cottages form
A vibrant row, protected from harm
From ocean, gale and imminent storm:
And new Portscatho emerges from black and white,
Rugged, yet stained with colour and vivid light…
Pete Ray
November 2020
Thoughts about two images, one an old postcard of Portscatho, the other a similar view from a photograph I took some years back…
Love this place…
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