Wardley’s
Creek I
Boats, ducks, hedges,
Birds, lanes, flowers,
Sail, quack, creak,
Chirp, wind, perfume.
Wardley’s
Creek II
Hippos Wanted -
Mud berths available.
Marian Frizwell
Greek
Iconic Pillar
What I have seen!
Since 1841 - indeed.
Majesty has walked beside me, visitors
from overseas.
A pauper rested his head upon my base,
brought down to bended knees.
Ornate and gilded ladies, feather
hatted in attire,
frock-coated gentlemen, dressed
starchly to inspire.
Hand in hand children laughing with
suntanned faces,
coming in together for high tea, set
out in formal places.
What I have seen!
These many years, standing still and
silent here.
Wars have raged, then skies gone clear
but myself unchanging through the
years.
Gone , the once effervescent clientele,
giving way to dancers, jazz players
and brides.
I watch the inside and the out - the
change of time and tides.
Kathleen
Curtiss
Little Brown Job
A sand martin over wintering in Africa,
About to make a
journey
The route sat-nav’d
into him before he fledged
The time chosen
by natural happenings
Storm in the Atlantic
Separated from
the flock
Alone
Takes refuge on
a three-masted sailing tree
Picks insects
off ropes to regain strength
To carry on
alone
White cliffs of Dover and northward
To the River
Wyre at Garstang
Still alone
No other Martins
in sight
Has his sat-nav malfunctioned?
Surely this is
where he was fledged.
Upstream at Scorton he finds his flock
They have moved
A mystery – why –
known only to them
Like the mystery
of migration itself.
Courageous little brown job
No longer alone.
Welcome back to
Wyre.
Pat Ashcroft
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