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Harbour Head

Peter F Anson @

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A seamless wedge of water

frictionless she slid

beneath the waves

a slavish sinking

calls to a murky heaven.

No casting net or sign

Nor lifeless rings

Debris the surface

An opaque glass

Sworn silent.

Waves claw back

Their catch

A profit from loss

Wives and children

forage for news

A trustless hope

A truth time elapsed

To know and accept

That tearless thief

That Fishertown’s grief.

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The Last Old Master

Longing to linger

Waiting and resting

Slowly he wobbles

Down by the sea

No more to trawl now

His late years untroubled

A life on the land

Like sand to be free,


Tall waves they thundered

Out from the watchtower

Back home is the Sailor

Back home from the sea


No ship's watch nor mainbrace

No herring to trawl for

The cold wet and spray now

Left far far away

This last past old Master

He's worked till his last hour

Back home is the Sailor

Back home from the sea

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