Western Cornwall #1

[  Photo Blog # 72  ]

I visited the western and the southernmost extremities of Cornwall on several summertime occasions between 2006 and 2008.  For the next three Thursdays I will offer some of the many photographs I took on these journeys.   The weather was not always bright and sunny!

Glendurgan Gardens – owned by the National Trust

The beach at Glendurgan on the Helford River

Glendurgan – The Beach

On the King Harry Ferry

Kynance Cove on the Lizard Peninsular

Kynance Cove

Lamorna Cove on the Penwith peninsula approximately 4 miles (6.4 km) south of Penzance

Lamorna Cove

Lamorna Cove

The Lizard – Lighthouse

The Lizard – Lighthouse

St. Michael’s Mount – from Marazion

St. Michael’s Mount – from Marazion

Northumberland – Bamburgh

[ Photo Blog #56 ]

The coast of Northumbria on the North-East of England bordering with Scotland is atmospheric and highly impressive.  It was described by Janet Street Porter on ITV’s ‘Britain’s Best View’ as having ‘a coastline ravaged by nature and steeped in history.  There’s a story round every single corner … you’re not just looking at a view, you’re standing in the footsteps of kings, and all on one of the most dramatic coastlines nature has to offer.’ 

I have visited many times, usually on the way to or from my tours of Scotland.  For me, one of the highlights of a visit to this part of the country is the small town of BAMBURGH. The following photographs I took there in 2003 on one of these visits when I stayed in this historic town for several days.

Bamburgh is a stunningly attractive small town within the Northumberland Coast Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty.   In fact it is even perhaps just a village, with a population of only about  450.  It is dominated by its magnificently imposing Castle, once the seat of the former Kings of Northumbria, that can be seen for miles around.  It would be hard not to be impressed by the sheer size of the Castle and there is so much to tell about its long and amazing history.  On the seaward side of the castle and town there are impressive stretches of pure golden sandy beaches with rolling sand dunes and views across the sea to both the Holy Island of Lindisfarne and to the Farne Islands.   The town also houses a museum dedicated to its great heroine, Grace Darling.

To read the story of Grace Darling and of how her heroism caught the attention of the Victorian public, click on this link . . .   The Story Of Grace Darling

Bamburgh Castle from the North Sea shore

Looking eastwards towards the castle from the town

The defensive landward side walls of Bamburgh Castle in the evening sun

The seaward walls of Bamburgh Castle from the seashore

Looking north to the castle across the coastline dunes

The beach of the North Sea at Bamburgh

Looking eastwards across the North Sea from the sand dunes

Driftwood marker on Bamburgh beach

The Bamburgh Sandman (See my earlier blog of October 29th 2016 at: The SANDMAN   )

This elaborate cenotaph commemorates the life of the early 19th Century lifeboat heroine, Grace Darling, who is buried nearby.

Bamburgh rooftops and castle battlements outlined against the rising sun

The Castle at Sunrise 

Sunrise over the North Sea from Bamburgh

 

Bamburgh Castle . . . Pen and Wash – WHB:  2014   ©

 

In Resignation – A QUATERN

My attempt at  … A QUATERN

Definition … 

A Quatern is a sixteen line French form composed of four quatrains. It is similar to the Kyrielle and the Retourne. It has a refrain that is in a different place in each quatrain. The first line of stanza one is the second line of stanza two, third line of stanza three, and fourth line of stanza four. A quatern has eight syllables per line. It does not have to be iambic or follow a set rhyme scheme. 

”Ocean Waves’ … Pen & Wash – WHB . May 2017

‘In Resignation’

I wish the tide to swallow me whole
As though a thief had from me stole
My life, but then in guilt forgone
His gains, paused, and then moved on.

I’ve had enough of body and soul
I wish the tide to swallow me whole
For now I see, I realise,
Life is too short to compromise.

Decisions hurt but must be made,
And so, before my debts are paid
I wish the tide to swallow me whole;
I’m ready now, I’ve  lost  control.

No longer can I bear the pain,
Resigned to never feel again,
Towards the waves I edge my stroll
I wish the tide to swallow me whole.

‘The Seashore’ … Pen &  Wash – Photoshopped  with edge effect … WHB – April 2017

EBB TIDE

‘Ebb Tide’ … WHB – 2017

The tide turns

As for me it wanes
I feel your presence

There
Where
For you
It begins
Its encroachment
Knowing you will be there
To welcome its  return
To follow its path
Waiting
Watching
Until bite by bite
Ripple by ripple
It will wash your words
Across oceans
To my shore

Here
Where
My foot printed
Passage
Replicates your own
And signs itself
With love

But in turn
That will come
For you
Too
And my own shells
Of words
Will flow
And flood
Where your bare feet
Choose to follow

There is a beautiful song, composed by the American songwriter, Carl Sigman, called ‘EBB TIDE’.  I came across this beautiful and moving rendering of it by my favourite male voice a capella choir, The Westminster Chorus.  I have brought these to your attention in a previous blog.   please do listen to their version of ‘Ebb Tide’ at this YouTube link …

Click here to watch and listen.

The Daggers in my Words

I didn’t see her
crying on the evening beach.
I knew she was there
and why
but I didn’t see her crying there.

I wasn’t there and yet I knew
I felt her pain
because I was the cause
L’amour fait mal
the perpetrator of the hurt

As she stood over the still rock pool
pretending to be looking for the sand crabs
I heard her tears drop into the still sea water,
the ripple that I knew they were sending out
threatening to tell the world
of my reckless disregard

Without touching
I felt her sobbing against my chest
sharing heartbeats almost
hers racing
as though to beat the tide to the foreshore
mine following after to steady her haste

Her perfume floated to me on the salty air
a reminder, a tell-tale allusion to her presence
a  fragrant sea-balm redolent of only her
an aroma meant to draw me to that distant beach

And yet I was not there
I had no sight of her distress
only the certain knowledge
my senses heightened by the evening’s stillness
by my guilt, and by the opprobrium I deserved

I sensed all that upheaval
the ending of a dream can bring
more hurtful
when that dream had seemed so attainable

Unseeingly I connected with her on that beach
sequestered from the torrent of words
which was to come
by the murmur of the waves
breaking upon the sand
striving for that mark
which would signal the tide turning
and come to that apotheosis
which we had once hoped would be our future
but which now seemed in doubt
if not surrendered
even stabbed in its infancy
  by the daggers in my words   

Photographs by courtesy of Canadian artist Alma Kerr

To Heal the Hurt

She

Was late

After  nine

Walking slowly

Along the seashore

With only one purpose

Looking for his sand imprints

The staunch assurance in his stride

Resolution  taut as pre-stressed steel

Hoping against hope she’d find him weeping

The above ten line story was prompted by Davy D’s excellent ETHEREE,  ‘Laptop Love’, posted on 8th November.  He has introduced me to a poetic form of which I was scarcely aware.  I do know that the etheree can take a variety of different forms, but for this, my first attempt, I have kept things simple – if that is the correct word for a rather tricky exercise. 

The photograph was taken by me earlier this month on the North Sea coast of Yorkshire.

Traces In Time

Footprints traced the story

recorded all 

barefoot prints

a pathway

across the foreshore

lit by the glistening dying sun

hovering above the reticent waves

imprints liberating their story

embellishing the exposé

their secret

not wishing perhaps

to be divulged

separate paths

traced hesitantly

converging

from different directions

but with one intention

one goal

until the climax

the revelatory moment

there they still were

hers,  petite, 

heels up as though

reaching

to meet lips above her head

his,  facing hers,

flat-soled, akimbo,

as though pulling her into

his embrace

head inclining towards

her upturned face

a moment of fruition

a snippet of time

held in that sand mould

interpreted in

that conjured image

soon to be gone

the commemoration

of that fleeting act

but for them

a seismic event

profound

intense

bringing beauty and hope

to life now renewed

love now bespoken.

The composition of this imaginative verse narrative was based on the first two photographs and the central painting (of the two sets of facing footprints).  These are the creations of the Canadian artist, Alma Kerr, to whom I am indebted for granting me permission to use them.

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The Pebble Path to Peace

 

At evening with a heavy heart
I’d had enough of talk.
My mind’s reflections overwrought
I left the house to walk.

I came across it quite by chance
Whilst ambling by the sea.
I’d hoped to clear my head of doubt,
To find some certainty.

I dimly saw the trail ahead
Climbing to my right,
A Pilgrims’ Way to paradise;
It was not there last night.

Its pebbles seemed to call to me
To follow where they led;
To seek their end where ere that be,
Pursue them without dread.

Their blue and red encouraged me,
Spoke to me of hope,
Of everlasting certitude,
The means by which I’d cope.

They led me on beside the sea,
Meandered to and fro
Until abruptly then they ceased;
In front a golden glow.

The certainty I’d hoped to find
Was there in front of me;
A testament to Nature’s Grace –
The Glory of the Sea.

A feeling of contentment spread
Throughout my fatigued mind.
My body too relaxed in peace,
Resentment left behind.

I’d found what I was searching for,
Afforded by that path
Of coloured pebbles on the shore;
My soul’s search aftermath.

Both photographs were taken by me one evening in 2009
along the seashore of the English Channel at Swanage, Dorset, UK.

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A METAPHOR

PRINTS IN THE SAND

 

I moved to the shoreline
On the beach you frequent,
Looking for traces
Of you as I went.

I slowly imbibed
The sea air, the spray,
A hint of your perfume
I caught on the way.

The rock-pools turned red
As I watched the sun die.
I knew that you’d been there,
Seen the same sunset sky.

You’d got there before me
And left your own mark.
Trusting I’d see it
Before it got dark.

So I  knelt on the seashore.
I stretched out my hand.
I thought of your purport,
Pressed my palm in the sand.

Our signs now together –
Symbols of trust.
Just a momentary message
Impaled in the dust.

I left them to wither
Side by side on the shore.
The waves would soon take them.
Together no more.

Surely a metaphor
Reflecting our past,
Our present, our future –
Envisioned at last.

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