Poetry Map of Scotland: poem no. 365

Gales are dialect raps

A kettle boiled gale force
Pours sea over the dock
With bones spit from a main course
Hour glasses level rocks

Boats traverse the trails of shoals
Upon layers of maps
Isles are tins, cups and bowls
Gales are dialect raps 

Waves lather stone to soap
Nets are spun like webs
A coral kaleidoscope
Strobes floodlight the ebb

Chris Tait

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