BREAKWATERS & BREAKING LINES... (My new poem inspired by Sue Nichol's painting...)

 Breakwaters & Breaking Lines…

(Inspired by Sue Nichol’s painting of Staithes, North Yorkshire…)

It is the rising of a sun, harassed by the swirling

And careering North Sea storm clouds, twirling 

About the Staithes sea-walls in a high tide deluge

Of grey, corrupt seawater, corralled, roaring and huge,

As a wicked gale whips up brine with colours to match

The carousing menace in which the sky revels and the breakwaters watch,

Merely black silhouettes pounded, hapless and helpless,

As the new day’s light fights for survival, its hope and patience endless…

It was the turmoil of a battlefield, caused by the swirling

And careering of enemy artillery fire, hurling

Death and destruction into a ground-gouging deluge

Of contaminated, shell-holed filth, so that huge

Apocalyptic clouds of smoke, with poison gas to match

Billowed into no man’s land, as shivering sentries stood on watch.

A verey light rose from a pistol shot, its illumination feckless,  

As a grim day’s fight for trench survival continued, its horrors pointless…

Pete Ray…

7th December 2025…

Sue Nichol’s exciting painting not only made me think of the wild seas around North Yorkshire but then, also of World War I trench warfare.

I couldn’t help it… 

NEVER MORNING WORE TO EVENING BUT SOME HEART DID BREAK... (My poem inspired by Walter Langley's painting of Newlyn, Cornwall...)

 Never Morning Wore To Evening But Some Heart Did Break…

(Inspired by Walter Langley’s engaging painting…)

Broken.

Eyes averted from the scene,

Covered by calloused palms,

Elbows her only support,

For the sympathetic hand’s ageing touch

Wasn’t felt...

Forsaken.

The bay looks silken in death,

Nestling like a lined casket,

Ripples quite sickeningly smug,

For its haunting threat has been

Cruelly dealt...

Stricken.

Tears ripped from the soul,

Quay wall dark in the mourning.

Fishing debris now grave goods,

For widowhood has hacked a 

Harrowing welt...

Pete Ray…

My favourite Walter Langley painting, created upon the very sea-wall I regularly walk upon in Newlyn...

The sea looks like a coffin’s silken lining and it made me think...

DUNES AT SUNSET... (My new poem inspired by Michelle Underwood's artwork...)

 Dunes At Sunset…

(Inspired by Michelle Underwood’s artwork…)

The sky’s dull creams cloud into light greys, fusing

Into yellows, bloody amber and patches of white

Which stretch like a yawn above the shadowy dunes,

Spiky with marram grass, tousled with hardy flora

And silhouetted with grasses floundering in the sunset…

On the River Camel’s estuary at Rock, as a lad I climbed the dunes, using

Them for leaping onto the sand below from quite a height,  

Near Padstow’s famed Doom Bar, which still looms 

Large at low tide, its humpbacked, hazardous aura

Now a haven for egrets and herons with long bills for a threat…

Pete Ray…

5th December 2025…

The sun setting over dunes in the painting reminded me of unsettling days at Rock, as a boy.

I didn’t like it there really, because it wasn’t actually the ‘seaside’ as such to me and the beach wasn’t really a beach, it was essentially a river bank.

However, my mum and Aunt Ivy liked it there, as they were able to scour the shops and harbour in Padstow during the late afternoon, after we had taken a ferry across the estuary, or driven there via Wadebridge.

I didn’t like shopping that much, either…

Happy days…

THE HOUSE ON THE HILL.. (My new poem inspired by Michelle Underwood's artwork...)

 The House On The Hill…

(Inspired by Michelle Underwood’s artwork…)

The invasive layers of snow, the icy charcoal waters intruding

Across the remoteness of a challenging landscape

And the dark, shadowy lunge of woodland are smitten and harassed

By infused and spattered blended blues, and hues of turquoise, even 

As they hint of the drama in the sky’s winter light.

The delicate strokes of wisps of smoke, draw the gaze, exuding

From an insignificant house, a warm haven in which to escape

The seasonal storms, the travails of life and the mind distressed.

 I thought then of the traditional words about gathering winter fuel on the Feast of Stephen

And a poor man, a peasant from a good league hence, coming into sight…    

Pete Ray…

4th December 2025…

CHARLECOTE PARK, WARWICKSHIRE, 4TH DECEMBER 2025... (DECORATED FOR CHRISTMAS...)

 

ABOVE & BELOW: REDWINGS...