The Goatwalk

This is a very personal poem about my childhood in Topsham:

Beneath the lintel of this walled up gate,
I scarce could fit at eight years old. But there
Within this narrow frame, I first laid sight
On this enchanted place, became aware

Of how each tide could bring a different view.
At first I saw but water, mud and birds,
But step by step I learnt – am learning still –
How when the Exe is low and undisturbed,

The avocet may sweep from side to side,
Or oystercatcher probe with painted bill,
While far away the curlew’s plaintive cry
Competes with herring gulls so loud and shrill,

Until the tide – inevitably – will turn,
And all will fly away on flashing wing,
Perhaps to feed or find a different home,
As each new year plays out from spring to spring.

This was my consolation, and my joy,
When as so often lonely and confused,
For sometimes when the summer day declined,
The whole scene was with golden fire diffused,

And I would sense the infinite beyond.
And yet not only then – for when a cold
Grey winter mist entwined my heart, the far
Horizon, indistinct, would be dissolved,

As at high tide river, sky completely merged
And only passing trains disturbed the peace.
Although I also found a different home,
I always treasured memories such as these

And vowed one day I would at last return.
By the grace of God I fulfilled this vow,
And though so many tides have ebbed and flowed,
This childhood scene is still as wondrous now.

Pentecost Sunday

When Pentecost came, some gave it a miss.
“A service at nine’s too early,” they said,
“Sunday’s for chilling and church when it suits,
We have to lie in, take breakfast in bed.”

When Pentecost came, some went to the beach.
The weather was nice, they needed a swim.
They packed up their barbies, cossies and beer,
“A week without church is hardly a sin.”

When Pentecost came, some went to have lunch.
The family were down, they had to come first.
“We never invite them, they just wouldn’t come.”
The excuses were many – all well-rehearsed.

When Pentecost came, there were but a few,
Who witnessed the Spirit move with great power.
The faithful lamented, cried out to the Lord,
But most of the members missed out on that hour.

The vicar stood up, with tears in his eyes,
Announced that the church very likely would close.
The protests were many from those who weren’t there.
A meeting was called – packed out were the rows.