Mousehole…
(from Julie Adlard’s clay collage picture…)
There's a tallness about it,
As if the buildings are on tiptoe,
Stretching clear of rough seas, frenzied tides
And violent winter weather…
There’s a quaint austerity about it,
As if time has been bleached away;
Sunset smothers scarlet roofs with deep pinks
And fiery hues fused together…
There’s a quiet fascination about it,
As if its kaleidoscope quay walls
Harbour memories, with steep steps, flimsy ladders
And vessels tightly tethered…
There’s a disorder about it,
As if quayside boats are strewn pieces
From a board game, abandoned haphazardly
And awaiting tidy hands to gather…
There’s a beauty about it,
As if it will draw you in, helplessly
With leaning oars and paddles, lurid amber nets
And dinky lobster pots, dotted about, unbothered…
Mousehole’s wide harbour steps
Into its intriguing past entice:
Herring and pilchards,
Seiners and luggers
And a salient peace, unique and concise…
Pete Ray
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