there you lay
in your cradled bed
unable to move
hair thin,
skin frail,
bones sagging,
your eyes open
but, so far away
perhaps you are where i
remember you best,
smiling,
on your knees on the carpeted floor,
round, radiant summer skirt,
spread about like a pool
beneath the tide
the mussels sway
in ranks of black and antique grey
in time their shells
become fine grains
to mingle in the rolling sands
while ancient bones
that marched from Rome
fall into silence and decay
merged into land, clad in stone
all things swiftly pass away
whether bird or fish or man
in whispering voices, the bones, they talk
through the rolling curving lines of the land
they lead me gently, unconscious I walk
on the moss covered stones I rest my hand
to feel their quiet presence lingering there
through the rolling curving lines of the land
in the haunt of the fox, home of the hare,
where all is as it was before, I come
to feel their quiet presence lingering there
guided by moonlight, stones, spiral and sun
I walk the path of the ancestors bones
where all is as it was before, I come
to the place of the barrow, long dark homes,
with lasting respect for all that they knew
I walk the path of the ancestors bones
the stones they placed and the ancient ditches
where the blackthorn at dawn sparkles with dew
inform me still of their deepest wishes
with lasting respect for all that they knew
How many wrecks in the uncharted depths? Century after century of shipwrecks, seaweed shrouded and armoured in barnacles, iron ribbed rusted skeletons of the vessels they were.
Sea born we are by that life giving ocean that can swallow men whole, drowning in storms, when dark clouds are broiling.
Lost sailors bones rest on the bottom at a depth that is deeper than the height of the highest of mountains ~ fish eat their flesh, their bones a part of the sea ~ they rest there from war, work, exploration ~ they rest there now in water rocked graves where no sunlight, starlight nor moonlight can ever reach in the ebb and the flow and the sway of deep tides.
stars hidden in cloud
winds howl darkness, no mercy
a wave wall, a void
sea throat swallows, whole,
spinning, deep to sea grave,
sand grains their worn bones
wind drop, empty light,
nothing there on the surface
tranquil cloud mirror glass
(the title Twenty Four Shipwrecks refers to a figure I saw online when reading about Trawler Fishing in Britain – twenty-four was stated as the number of trawlers lost each year)
The Dreaming Path 