Friday, 12 May 2017

PENBERTH COVE, CORNWALL... POEM ABOUT JULIE ADLARD'S ART-WORK & ANOTHER ABOUT PHOTOGRAPHING A WREN THERE, WITH BAD CONSEQUENCES...




PENBERTH GREENS

Hung washing belies the seclusion
Of Penberth’s languishing heritage;
Greens dominate like jade and emeralds,
Garnet and gaspeite:
Gems within a gem of a cove,
A working inlet still,
Despite apparent desertion and silent delusion…

Pallid cottages rouge in the diffusion
Of Penberth’s distinguishing features;
Jumble prevails like flotsam and jetsam,
Rubble and remnants:
Jewels within a jewel of a cove.
A thriving anchorage still,
Mackerel hues glinting in the abundant confusion…

Granite cobbles bulge on the cauance.
A redundant capstan haunts like a dream;
An electric winch is used to haul up the boats,
And the clapper bridge still fords the stream…

Emeralds and gaspeite,
Garnet and jade:
Greens dominate the beach-scape
From the media inlaid…

Pete Ray
11th May 2017

Looking at Julie Adlard’s art-work based upon Penberth Cove, all seemed deserted and bejewelled in green…
Gaspeite is an apple green stone and ‘cauance’ is a local Cornish word meaning a slipway…

Having visited Penberth a few times, the art-piece sums up the place really well and below are some images I have taken there. 


I slipped and crashed onto rocks near Penberth’s slipway on one visit too, attempting to get a photo of a particularly difficult and flitting wren and the poem I penned about that particular incident lies below too…

















I Hate Wrens

I saw the pipit’s ruddy back
Easily enough,
Capturing its proud stance
Upon a ridiculously large and pitted rock
But something else darted about,
Imperceptibly enough,
Camouflaging its trite dance:
Beneath enormous  boulders, it flitted amok…

Stepping on stones,
Yellowed by lichen,
I closed in on an elusive wren,
Which bobbed in the murk
Bordering the slipway,
Skipping and flipping to vanish again.

Camera poised, shoe pressed down,
The damp lichen for me turned to grease 
As slimy weed on a shoe’s sole felled me, 
A dead weight: a clumping thud and with such extraordinary ease…

Lens clattered on rock,
Arm slapped upon boulder,
Ribcage caved in on wrist’s lock;
I was winded, shaken, abashed and distressed,
But recovered, snapped the wren and departed,
Quite embarrassed and hurt but damned unimpressed… 

Pete Ray
2011

I captured the image though...
HURT, BUT I CAPTURED IT...

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