David Selzer is a writer of poetry, prose fiction, screenplays and stage plays. He embraces digital platforms to share his work of more than fifty years… READ MORE


  • PREPOSITIONS II

    TO LINDISFARNE

    From Seahouses to

    Inner Farne, a bumble bee

    escorted our boat.

    OFF POINT OF AIR

    In a far channel,

    a lone boatmen plays the pipes:

    ‘The Road to the Isles’.

    FROM HILBRE ISLAND

    A pale summer’s day –

    low tide, windless, infinite:

    seals bark distantly.

    ON YNYS LLANDDWYN

    On summer’s last  day,

    wind flecked wave crests arise, curl,

    spill like quick-silver.

    FROM THE MARITIME MUSEUM

    Brown pelicans glide

    freely, over Alcatraz,

    like tawny galleons.

    FROM GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE

    Shouldering the wind, our

    close shadows are stretched below

    on the ribbed water.

    ON SCREMERSTON BEACH, NEW YEAR’S DAY

    In the dunes, a seal

    was stranded – dissipating whisky

    and resolve.


    3 responses to “PREPOSITIONS II”


    1. Ian Craine Avatar
      Ian Craine

      These poems of David’s are very good. I find them vivid; they are lyrical but grounded. And I love the lists of “keywords” that accompany them, each of which bears its own resonance.

    2. Dave Press Avatar

      I liked the journey across all that water. Can you really make out your shadow on the water from the Golden Gate? My memory is of being very high and constant wind and tide disturbing the water below. I cycled to and across the bridge from downtown San Francisco with my friend and colleague, Robin Norrie. We concluded our cycle ride with a lung busting grind to the top of Lombard street and then held up the traffic for a photo opportunity of Robin cycling down the curves.

      1. David Avatar

        Yes, we could make out our shadows. We were there in late May/early June and that day at the bridge about 3.00 and the water was ruffled but regularly so. The shadow of the bridge was clear on the water and also ourselves, or, rather, two hunched humanoid figures.

        Your question makes me realise that while I make up most things in life and art I do not invent the images that usually prompt a poem. On the contrary, those images (sometimes literal, photographic images) are the starting point.

        Who said writers don’t like talking about how they write?

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