Writer of Poetry, Screen Plays, Stage Plays & Fiction
Shipwrecked on his way to Ireland, the saint
was washed ashore to the foot of the cliff:
founded the church we walk uphill towards
between hedgerows of honeysuckle
and meadowsweet. The church squares to the wind.
A cemetery of slate edges the cliff.
We look down. A seal bobs by the lobster pots.
By David SelzerTO 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.
By David Selzer
