{Hear me read this here}

1 – At Craster

New seaweed sparkles as the rascal tide unveils
the dastardly rocky ridge.

But do not speak to me of what has gone before.
The castle ruins, gold and black on the flattering horizon left,
perpendicular to the shore.

I’ll hold the light, but I do not care who built it 
and nothing for their war.

Don’t resurge the hands of the women, raw,
gutting the struggling catch,
with hours to go in salted rain,
hefting coal for the evening watch.

Be still, be still, it makes me ill.
I do not know, I say, 
I will not see what came before.

I don’t recall the monstrous trucks
that crush our deepest sleep, 
the concrete churned eternally, 
to reinforce once-pristine shores.

Be still, be still, it makes me ill,
and that lass that flew before.

The golden and the green go stretched,
the gorse true-yellow with coconut spell,
they, and smoking kippers tell.
The gulls and crows speak very well.

No dirges though about the storms
and dear boys lost at sea.

Speak to me of peace, 
both first and last, and then
just let me be.

2 – Alnmouth

The matriarch who moved and loved this town,
as smaller men around her frowned,
I do not know of her.

The cross marks something on the mound.
I don’t know why or who was drowned.

She may have marked this hill one day
as the estuary ferryman pulled his way 
across the mouth of Alnmouth bay.

I was set a task in the recent past
to sit upon her bench.
I do not recall her blessèd name,
or her husband’s on the plaque.

In dunes below are concrete blocks,
the kind that only giants drop
to muddle the enemy’s tanks.

I do not care for what has gone.
Today, and not before.

In the present, peace is pressing,
either side, a call to war.

3 – Rest

What sequence though of gentle steps
creates this moment’s sea defence; 
this pleasant ledge on which to set
a teapot and two cups of tea?

We warm our hands
still crisp with sand, and gaze towards the sea.

The swallows churn
they’ll soon adorn the sky both South and West.

Must it always be a brutal fight 
to reach such gently rippling light?

For a mind that will not rest, love, 
speak to me of peace.