A poem recently shared with Black Bough poetry’s Top Tweet Tuesday.
A view across to South Wales from Portishead over the Severn.
At Black Nore Lighthouse
Lofted above a scaggy, driftwood scattered beach,
lording over chunks of rock, a stilted steam-punk
iron torch, painted in off-white, all warnings retired
and snubbed by squatting seabirds – resting up
on tiny Ynys Deny/Denny Island, out amongst
the sandbanks – in cackling mockery of borders,
behind us, a small town rapidly expands,
ahead, the waters of the Severn unite the coast
of post-industrial South Wales and this western edge
of England, here, someone’s left a fire to smoulder,
its acrid smoke ghosts drift across the channel,
where silhouettes of distant hills loom, like invitations.
Richly Evocative 
Black Nore, my local lighthouse! A charming coastal treasure, its location and demeanor so nicely portrayed here! But, as a once upon a long-distant, and brief time, dweller in West Wales it’s that last line that made me catch my breath, “where silhouettes of distant hills loom, like invitations” it’s the perfect echo of the permanent, quiet yearning I have to return there; though not Welsh, I think I might still be afflicted by “hiraeth”! Lovely poem.
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Thanks so much Liz. Glad it had a positive effect. Love the concept of ‘hiraeth’ – I discuss it a little and similar expressions in a post called – Growing up in a city that was never there.
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