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
St Cuthbert's Final Journey 