The gulled sky shrieks above a mournful sea;
In the grey austerity, the wind moans.
Like candyfloss, spun by the waves,
The spindrift balloons above the billows.
Stunted, tenebrous trees claw at the waves
Which gargle and gurgle through time-worn stones.
Bladderwracked rocks peep from the Stygian depths,
Then disappear below the breathing tide.
The brittle reek of iodine and kelp
Pervades this melancholic atmosphere.
Flashing white "V"s, screaming over the waves,
Suddenly a flight of oystercatchers
With their insistent whistling, hits the shore.
Scuttering in the receding water,
Their orange bills probe like nodding donkeys.
They're happy enough in their quest for food,
Immune to man's weather-born changing moods
And unconcerned about the gathering storm.
Comments about this poem (Oystercatchers by William Messent )
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