Peppered

The house was one of those that survived.
Years past, most of the village had gone
Washed away, lost, swept up
A besom broom of water and energy and grit
Cast off into the salt-pan of jetsam
And untethered cargo
Right at the street end.
Now the nor’easterly pounded in
The walls shook up from the foundations
Jurassic Park writ real
Our water and wine turned choppy
No salvation it seemed
From the insistent rumble
Incapable of being unheard;
The windows spattered with brine
The walls peppered with shingle
The unending wind
Wailed and whistled ghoulishly
Through seaweed-smeared chimney pots
Kelp flung like phoney confetti –
Outside,
Dogs wore a sideways parting
Owners sported brackish bangs
As they pushed through the car wash
And brushed with the drink;
Seagulls surfed breaker tops
Before banking to vertical
And shrieking desperately as sodden chips
Mushy pea pots and batter crumbs
Went howling down the road – lost
The upended bin nudged by the sea wall
That gyrated, then giggled, then cried
In ecstasy and agony
At such unwanted attention

Uprooted

When the storm cut through, it cut;
Not a samurai-sharp, clean, incisive cut –
But blunt, deep, savage – butcher’s cuts
Cleaving and sawing, to and fro
Until the job was done.
It raced, the wind. It raced and grabbed.
Laughing, it grappled the trees –
Like a fatigued father, numb through insolence
Shaking a child; but no remorse – just brutish joy.
It took without mercy; pitilessly and persistently;
Saplings, vibrant with the life of warming days, slapped down.
Adolescents, lippy with age, put in their place;
And the wise old ones, their wisdom scattered.
Uprooted, lost.
And we pick up the pieces now.
The old wall, tumbled, can be repaired.
The car, rippled with dents, ironed out.
The windbreak of youthful poplars, replanted.
But the lament of the wild runs deeper –
Baleful calls; grey-eyed mournfulness
Families destroyed,
And lives
Uprooted.

Uprooted

Whipping winds

The God of Wind is on the throne today
The air confused, chaotic, a cacophony
Of trees stripped back to bark-bare
Fields rummaged and raked roughly through
Leaves wildly whipping in the wind
Thrashing in the thermals, like a comet’s tail
Or the glinting stars on a sorcerer’s shawl
Lifting, looping, landing
Like a Harrier jump-jet
A contredanse between bract and blade
Flat-footedly falling at my feet
Blocking up the brook’s banks
Crumbling crescents, dune-like drifts
Gluey, gooey, gummy
The fruits of the Summer season
Now the till for tomorrow