Quartz Pebbles, The Isle of May
The boat shatters water
marble white as we
leap the humped backed waves.
Island, its necklace of breakers
attracts all, migrant birds , grey seals,
dolphin, porpoise, whale.
Today tourists visiting the lighthouses.
Solid as churches, their lights, horns,
warn, don`t hope to arrive
without a plan, don`t approach without
a reason. But who would come here
without a vision?
Pilgrims came carrying quartz pebbles,
sifted from landward beaches,
veined, smudged like the
surface of the moon.
Fairy firestones to charm the waves.
Buried in the dead`s grip they opened
the gates of paradise, planted as seed
in the corpse`s mouth its sprouting soul
could speak the language of heaven.
I pick one up for luck something
I sense I still need here. I hold it tight
for return, as gannets stream like
strings of pearls, wheeling spinning
silver crosses, playful angels
skimming the white winged sea.
Keith Parker 2014
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