Lands End

               LANDS END

               The island cries
               Its tears are lost
               in the spray of the racing surf
               The rock hurts
               Pain penetrates each stratum
               The gas is low
               The kettle boils but slowly
               Cove and Cape concentrate the anger of rain
               Water persists in clouds
               In the morning of Good Friday
               the sun celebrates silence
               Early risers chew noisily
               on hot-cross-buns
               It is silly to talk of islands
               that do not cry
               or of rocks that feel no pain
               On the edge
               no man is untouched
               Behind all showers
               a rainbow hides

              © GERALD ENGLAND

Composed: Sennen, 20th April 1985

Publications

1985 Pennine Platform (UK)
1986 FUTURES (Ipswich, Magic Pen Press)
1990 Spider Eyes (USA)
1993 Dial 174 (UK)
1999 Black Creek Review (USA)

Craig

           CRAIG

           Craig is three now

           Last year he climbed
           the height of the
           Giant's Causeway

           Today he crossed
           in wave-sprayed boat
           to Staffa and probed
           the depths of Fingal's Cave

           Craig is handicapped

           In one year
           he has crossed
           the Giant's sea
           from Ulster to the Hebrides

           How many years
           will he take
           to climb other heights
           probe other depths
           cross that other sea
           others label "normallacy" ?

           © GERALD ENGLAND

Composed: Fionnphort, 3rd August 1984

Publications

1984 New Hope International (UK)
1984 International Biographical Centre Magazine (UK)
1984 Boyds Walk Newsletter (UK)
1986 FUTURES (Ipswich, Magic Pen Press)
1987 White Rose Magazine (UK)

*****

Portuguese translation by Teresinka Pereira

Text not to hand.

Publication

1985 International Poetry (USA)

The Bay At The Back Of The Ocean

               THE BAY AT THE BACK OF THE OCEAN

               At the Bay-at-the-back-of-the-ocean
               a boy wrote his name in white sand
               and drew a rude picture of mummy
               whilst his brother picked at the grains
               and bottom-shuffled towards the blue

               Hidden behind the cow-climbed Dun
               beyond the sheep-trodden tees and greens,
               at the Bay-at-the-back-of-the-ocean
               where the machair stretches smooth and clean
               a man and wife looked toward more distant isles

               At the Bay-at-the-back-of-the-ocean
               a boy cried out to the warming wind
               and waved at the royal Atlantic
               whilst his brother crawled towards daddy,
               sand penetrating nappy, caking face

               Whilst others ascended to the Abbey
               one walked, one buggied, with parents trekked
               to the Bay-at-the-back-of-the-ocean
               searching for colours in rocks hiding pools
               and crevices where pink flowers grew

              © GERALD ENGLAND

Composed: Fionnphort, 30th July 1984

Publications

1985 Period Piece & Paperback (UK)
1986 FUTURES (Ipswich, Magic Pen Press)
1998 Conspire (Internet)

Moon Rising over the Shropshire Hills

               MOON RISING OVER THE SHROPSHIRE HILLS

               gently the brown hill slopes
               to forest of hard fir

               above the edge
               in cool, cloudless sky

               a tiny sliver of yellow light
               peeps

               graduates
               into a demon disc

               rests ready to roll
               earthly firs stand firm

               the moon
               rises to its rightful sky

              ©  GERALD ENGLAND

Composed: Hope Bowdler, 7th September 1982

Publications

1983 Folio (UK)
1986 FUTURES (Ipswich, Magic Pen Press)
1988 Quickenings (USA)
1992 California State Poetry Quarterly (USA)

Friday Evening

FRIDAY EVENING

               Sweltering under a September sun,
               doubting the wisdom of donning
               overcoat with hood,
               a sudden, drenching storm
               confirms advisability of choice.
               Walking round a wet corner,
               hood protectively up,
               sun still shining behind,
               a double rainbow invites -
               the lower bow, bright,
               arcing over fields;
               the higher, duller,
               blurring into clouds.

               The rain eases;
               the sun sets;
               the rainbow fades.

               © GERALD ENGLAND

Composed: Oldham, 30th September 1981

Publications

1983 True Thomas Poetry (UK)
1986 FUTURES (Ipswich, Magic Pen Press)
1993 The Frogmore Papers (UK)