MAWGAN PORTH, 1924... (My poem about an old image of Mawgan Porth, Cornwall...)

 Mawgan Porth, 1924…

It was like a closing of the eyes

During late afternoon and succumbing,

Allowing the mind to fall,

Befuddled and helpless, numbing

Oneself into the imaginings of a dream,

Whereby a scene known in modernity

Might be stripped bare, becoming

Monochrome and thus a peek into the past

Which lures and entices with its distant thrall…

The sharp corner, the acute bend

Is merely a well worn lane or track

And recognisable cottages and telegraph poles

Disguise a footpath up the cliff to Bre Pen…

The coastal road would surely wend

Its well worn way over river bridge’s back,

Where huers might have scanned the sea for shoals

In the deep, which cruelly hunted fishermen…

One vessel idles in the bay’s high tide,

One figure idles, a long gone hut beside.

One handcart idles in antiquity

And one’s dream and idylls fade into reality…

Pete Ray…