At this ancient, battered headland my gaze
Is seaward and merges with the cold blue
Tainted moments of surreal mid winter.
The soft, unbroken vowels of the tide
Are enclosed within the wind's gutturals.
Gulls stutter their syllables of longing.
And I reminisce about time spent here
In wilder days of youth; when summer was
Still green and gold promise and we enjoyed
A certain kind of freedom; that is now
Lost forever deep within the debris
Of these myopic, insubstantial times.
I'll try to recall this freedom clearly,
Before my ageing mind turns foggy grey.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great poem Dominic! I must admit there are echoes and shades of Dylan Thomas in reading your fine poem. Just soft key notes that resonate with me.10++ and added to my reread cabinet. Thank you for sharing your great gift Dominic. For you are one of the few poets on here I make a bee-line for.
Thanks Shaun...yes indeed I'm inspired by the work of Dylan Thomas, ' when summer was still green and gold promised' was possibly influenced, subconsciously at least, by Fern Hill such a great poem about childhood.