New poem 'Watching'


Watching

 On a day when the News is full of horror
and fear is more diffuse than ever, I notice 

 the old jetty posts rotting in the mud at Tyninghame 
estuary and abandoned World War Two concrete blocks

 at the edge of the wood. Countless dead crustaceans 
caught in nets of grass are scooped up in the strand-line 

 among the marran and cockle sand. A dozen herons 
are studying the saltmarsh pools as an egret drifts away

 flying further round the spit. Dunlin feed on the edge 
of the incoming tide and like insects fly as one when disturbed. 

 Then as the cries of curlew, tern and geese wash through, I realise 
I've lost sight of what's happening beyond here, for now.

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