St Cuthbert's Final Journey

Following 9th century monks as they flee from invading vikings with the body of St Cuthbert and the Lindisfarne Gospels – and undertake a momentous journey that helps shape England

The Causeway at Midnight….

This is the first poem I’ve written in years. Usually, if I do write a poem, I turn it into prose, except for all those poems I scribbled on pocket sized notebooks when I moved back up to the North East, as I walked along the beach and cliffs with my dog Caffrey. I’ve done nothing with them since and possibly never will… 

The Causeway at Midnight

The stars are out,

The cold is bedding in,

The wind has stilled to a chilled shivering breeze…

Recollections of sunshine

Are replaced by deepening dark,

except

for a few visible lights from Lindisfarne

over there.

A faint yet frustrating whirl

Of a generator

In the corner of the car park,

And the ploughed baked earth

Below

Rakes up its insides.

The chancing cars all made it

Cautiously approaching darkness

With full glare.

While I lie on the cold ground

Curved and shaped,

Wonder if the monks

Lit a fire.

Head on hard ground

The moon stings my eyes

And the wind picks up,

Starts to bite into my body

That moulds the earth.

The sound of another engine,

The glare of approaching light,

Whilst the generator for God knows what

Whirrs ever louder

And my hands get so cold

They start to hurt.

Photography © Paul Alexander Knox

Photography © Paul Alexander Knox

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This entry was posted on April 21, 2013 by in Blogs by Richard W Hardwick and tagged , .
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