Porthtowan: Needles In The Gale…
Buffeted on cliffs above Porthtowan beach by a raucous gale,
My eyes teary, jacket billowing and bellowing its own wrath,
The sky at least was bright and gannets patrolled across a broiling, wild ocean,
White bodies glinting in the autumnal sunlight, then undulating,
As breaking waves rose, roared and threw themselves down into an orgy of chaos and noise.
As I strode forth along the East Cliff’s coast-path, the tail
Wind’s power was surprising, venting its vile wrath.
But no birds were visible, indeed no wildlife at all, no motion,
Except the extreme worship of plants and bushes, prostrating
Themselves before the vainglorious storm and thrashing with the minimum of poise…
And then the sky darkened, as leaden clouds were drawn
Quickly landward by the ferocious gale and I turned
To make a stumbling descent towards the beach, strewn
By yellowish sea foam, its sand slung into my eyes, which burned.
Then needling hail spattered my face like stings as I scrambled
Along, almost slipping on loose stones which tumbled
Beneath my faltering, slithering strides, until quite suddenly
The shower ended and, dripping wet, I trudged, forlornly
Across awkward dunes to the sixty-three steps I needed to ascend
In order to reach shelter and there my extreme embarrassment to mend…
Pete Ray
4th October 2025…
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