My own slice of paradise.
Gentle water caresses the coast.
Sunlight twinkles across the azure,
Relentless wet: beating, beating
But only delicately
By the spectrum of water’s sight.
Shoal battles shoal
Those big, small and smaller.
As the light
Glistening there, left and right.
Somewhat enticing; equally fright’ning
The prismic liquid as confused as was I.
Of noise amidst silence.
Of nature, and progress.
This is indeed progress:
A man in the sky – no words
But the engine’s deep cry.
Rude and unobtrusive – a palette cleanser
Once missing, the silence is understood all the more.
The boats sit so politely
In their tranquil liquid silence.
And avast! People
Over there in the distance
Strolling, I question their motive
Though perhaps these souls
Have a skill in devotion
To unlumber their minds
Of such deadly a passion
To plan, form, devise
What to do with their life.
These are holiday makers
And they take in the sights
Of the Pine Walk, the mountains
And at night (I hope!) the stars.
I am the same
Though my world is less frivolous
Despite possessions I claim
Of value and function,
Without disdain I allow
To be perceived as one
Far less fortunate than I.
Though, truth is colour
And all manner of privilege
Permit me to sit here, sleep here, sing here
And examine this magnificent village.