Industrial Entries 2020 Writing Classes 427-428
Class 427
Class 428
Earth, Sea and Sky PETER ATKINSON Tranquillity and soothing breeze, created tender scene, Where peaceful pair shared idle thoughts, beside a coastal dene. The older of the two by far had travelled far and wide. His grandson by his side evoked a brimming sense of pride. The morning sun was hardly up, the days demands were few. Attentions calls on daily chores, those tasks they would eschew. The simple bench they shared as one, evoked a thoughtful quest. “Now tell me son,” said older man, “here’s question like a test”. “A riddle have you ever heard, a question in disguise. You solve this tricky puzzle and you get the mental prize.” The boy’s imagination fired at once, his grandad’s words inspired. He learnt so much from wise old sage. His knowledge he admired. “Be still and think”, the old man said, “I’ll keep it tight and terse. You tell me what I’m talking of. I’ll offer it in verse.” I was born in the earth. A burrow is best. To the eels in the sea, I’m a permanent pest. Through the sky in winter to a sea of unrest. The view from the dene, a picture of sea with the Farne’s in a magical span. A pause for reflection, the boy made connection. “It’s a puffin!”, he told the old man.
Before I go PAUL MEIN Come with me to the beach at Hauxley, April morning, cloudless blue, barely a breeze but a nip and tang in the air - made for walking, following paths of sprinkled coal, oystercatchers and turnstones brief flights ahead at the tide’s incoming edge splashes of foam sea diamonds in sun sparkle, a soothing discourse of non-stop waves, Coquet Island white, watchful. Come with me there, so we can seek the tracks of waders lightly patterned, holes in damp sand marking hunting pauses; so I can pick a treasure of sea glass opaqued and smoothly rounded to add to your collection; so I can watch your face, grown lovelier over years, look out to the horizon, relax with memories.
Earth Sea and Sky. Listen. Can you hear the Earth turn? Its axis grinding against the grit of Man ? Can you hear the chain-saw’s furious insistence? Felling trees of such majesty and beauty That crash through worlds as fragile as a moth’s wing ? Can you sense the dying of the day? Listen. Can you hear the ice shelf crack and fall, Exploding into a sea of plastic waste? Can you see the albatross, hooked and broken, Its wings thrashing in a blizzard of feathers? Can you hear the whales unanswered song, And see the nylon necklaced turtle in its hopeless confusion? Listen. Can you hear the wind, howling in the wires, Ink black and slashed against a sulphurous sky? Be it by cyclone or tsunami their message is clear. We are the masters of our own destiny And deserve what is to come. And come it must, on wings of hubris and greed. Listen.
Earth, Sea and Sky HILARY GLYDE Trapped in our home as never before, A silence falls over the village. Anxious, we assess our surroundings. Daily walks become our connection to the world. The countryside beckons; its beauty comforts us. Wild birds swoop and call, preparing to raise their young. Plants and flowers bloom before our eyes. The beach is close; tides carefully noted, Our early morning strolls provide fresh air and energy. May brings sunshine and constant blue skies. The sea glistens and rolls, calming our nerves. Diving terns keep us fascinated And whales make their graceful voyage along the coast. This time has made us more observant, More grateful for our natural world as never before.
Heatwave DUNCAN GLYDE Waves, oh evil waves. Heatwave vaunted yet lamented; no water, no life. The honourable member waves on number ten’s steps in her Tory blue dress paid for by her red Russian retainer. Crimewave surging , like Covid through our cities, drug runners housed at her Majesty’s pleasure in Acklington. Cost is a forethought. Rehabilitation an afterthought. Waves, oh very misunderstood waves. Daily Mail barks ‘Waves of migrants swamping you’. We are all migrants, all on journeys, all at different junctions, all navigating without GPS. In Victoria’s day the Empire, raped and pillaged these migrant’s forebears. Oh to see the smug right in a hospital cared for by a migrant. Waves, oh lovely waves. Shipping forecast long wave, twenty past five, brings news of Dogger Bank. In Warkworth voracious artic terns arrow bombing , oblivious eiders bobbing at Birling Carrs, the innocent-eyed seal pups resting at the North Pier, lapwings ready to perform in the estuary, curlews piercing each morning’s dawn, tourists laughing, shouting and splashing in the wispy, white ever changing waves. Oh what would the tourist do for a heatwave?
Heatwave How hard can it be, sitting here in the greenhouse waiting for a brainwave, some inspiration, how to build on heatwave. Now, if it was a crimewave, it would be easy to describe. There is one going on right here. A murder of crows has invaded and is raiding the parched gutters, turfing out the moss and eating the incumbents. I have the radio on, lots of waves to choose from, short and medium or even long. The reception even better when the sunspots are on. Worldwide news is coming in, but we all know what it says. The shockwave has passed, and work is at fever pitch to find a solution. Could that be a heatwave? Not the normal one. As with many things it’s relative. A few good days of sun for the United Kingdom and we find it hard to cope, too hot, no air, crowded roads as we make for the coast. If we didn’t think it lucky, then now we surely know. If it comes and goes and repeats again then a wave it surely is. And if it’s one, we’re lucky. But there’s never only one.