The Chimneys of Portpatrick

It’s always easier to write when on holiday. The combination of more time and being generally more relaxed, with visiting new and interesting places helps the creative flow. We have visited Portpatrick a few times now, finding out about ships wrecked on the rocky shore line, and how it served as a version of Gretna green for couples who caught the boat across from Belfast.  The ferries no longer come into Portpatrick, the little bay and harbour could not cope with the large ships required these days, which now dock at Cairnryan a little further north. Instead Portpatrick remains a picturesque little coastal village – a beautiful unspoilt spot away from the hubbub of much of modern life; a great spot for a relaxing break. It was only yesterday as I walked down to the sea, that I noticed the extraordinary number of chimney pots on the buildings around the bay. I found myself a comfy large rock to sit on, gazing out at the sea, and wrote this poem.

The chimneys of Portpatrick
That stand above the bay
Stretch up heavenward to the sun
That shines on us today
How long they’ve stood there watching
I really do not know
They have seen the waters rise
They’ve seen the tide ebb low.
 
The chimneys of Portpatrick
Have stood there oh so long
They’ve heard the ocean raging
Witnessed her waves so strong.
And in the still calm moments
That come both day and night
Know the peace just hides from view
The ocean’s fearsome might
 
The chimneys of Portpatrick
Stood solemn as the waves
Threw boat, then boat against the rocks
And not all souls were saved
The lighthouse stood as warning
It’s light shone through the night
The brave and daring lifeboat crew
Risked all for stranger’s plight
 
The chimneys of Portpatrick
That witnessed so much woe
Also saw such joyful days
Saw lovers come and go
Across the sea from Ireland
Where family disapproved
Wedding vows they came to say
Their lasting love to prove
 
The chimneys of Portpatrick
Stand cold and smoke no more
Yet still we come to visit
This bonny stretch of shore
And while we swim the waters
We drink, we eat, we play
The chimneys of Portpatrick
Stand proud above the bay
 
 

Word of the day

Sometimes I write poetry because I am inspired by something. It may be an event, an emotion, something I have seen or somewhere I have been. Sometimes I play around with words and phrases, just enjoying the musicality of the english language. There are plenty of poetry prompts to be found on line and sometimes I like to use these as they can be a bit more of a challenge as they may involve writing about something that I really don’t feel inspired by, but it is these kinds of things that I think help exerecise the poetry part of my brain and, I hope, develop my skill. Today’s inspiration comes from the “Word of the day” on one of the writing sites I visit. The word is burglarious.

 
Creeping through the darkness with burglarious intent
The band of cunning rogues on their wicked way they went.
Slinking through the village under cover of the night
Anyone who saw them there would surely get a fright
 
This motley crew had just one aim, they would not be deterred
Tales of wealth and riches to this hamlet them had lured
And finding that the stories they had heard might just be right
Decided that it would be worth their while to try one night
 
Plans had all been made with care, the details checked so well
Each knew what they had to do, they knew to never tell.
Whispers of encouragement between them were exchanged
If they could pull this off their lives forever would be changed
 
So upon the place they crept, each one would play their part
They clambered o’er the wall unseen – made a promising start.
But that was when it all went wrong for suddenly the light
Detecting hidden motion hence shone piercing through the night

“Who goes there?” Called a gruff voice from a window way up high
“Tell me what you’re doing here, also tell me why?”
Blinded by the sudden light erratically they ran
They’d thought the place was empty, whoever was this man?
 
The bunch were not the smartest, all sense now flew from their heads
They scattered panicked ‘cross the lawn, trampled the flower beds.
And then the scrape of metal bolts, the squeak of door flung wide
The snarling, barking dogs flew out, their quarry they espied
 
But as they fled, little they knew that worse was yet to come,
The man stood fuming at the door and cocked his old shot gun
Terrified the gang all fled back o’er the wall they went
Back home to rue the day they had burglarious intent.

Cerulean

I have soared through cerulean skies
Catching my breath on the
peaks of mountains
With the warmth of the day on my face
I have watched the clouds unfurl their stories before my greedy eyes.
I have inclined my ear to the
music of ravenous thunder
My feet have danced to the
beat of the rain.
I have tumbled in the arms of the ocean as it rolled out it’s lofty promises to
dry in the midday sun.
And when skies grew inky cold I set my course by the
whims of the wind
And hung my hopes on the shining stars

In a world that abounds with infinite possibilities
You
Are my truth.

A Little Tale

https://www.flickr.com/photos/reecardov/5047706897/in/photostream/

Inspiration can come at any time, and in any place, which is why I never go anywhere without a notebook. I also have a transcribing app on my phone so I can speak ideas into it while I’m on the go. That proved quite useful last week when inspiration struck on the walk to work. It was only 2 lines at the time, but I spoke them into my phone and forgot about them, until today. As the kids are now back at school this is the first day I have had to myself in a while, so I have got out my notebooks and phone to look at what I have scribbled down in the last few weeks, and see what I can do with any of it.

The two lines that came to me on the way to work last week have evolved into the following.

The moral of my little tale I hope to be made clear
I tell it as the sun descends as night is drawing near.
I do not wish to cause a fright, but wish it to be known
That anywhere you go round here you’re never quite alone.

So heed my warning, heed it well, hear now all I say
Or you may never see again the brilliant light of day.
The all pervading presence of the life from days gone by
Will not allow the innocent to pass unhindered nigh

I speak of old and ancient tales that logic would decry.
The stuff of myths and legends long unseen by living eye
Of creatures from an evil hand with purposes so bleak
Of voices from enshrouded mouths, that wail and howl and shriek

Let none here mesmerise you, they seek to captivate
To lure you in until you find, retreat is now too late
So turn around, take no more steps along this errant path
Flee, make haste, take flight unto the warmth of home and hearth

The moral of my little tale, I pray has been made clear
I tell it as my hope descends, my end fast drawing near.