Posts Tagged Beaumaris
HERONS IN THEIR HABITATS, LOVERS IN THEIR LIVES
Posted by David Selzer in Poetry on December 18th, 2010
'The Heron Hunt', Eugene Fromentin 1820-1876
i
A heron – self-motivated, self-contained, aloof – stands,
between a potted phormium and a wooden Buddha,
on the roof of a houseboat on the Prinsengracht in Amsterdam,
two metres or so from passing cyclists on the embankment
and the nervous tourists queuing for Anne Frank’s house.
ii
A heron – undisturbed, unconnected, elsewhere – perches securely
on a fallen oak beside a Cheshire pond near the motorway,
and the cargoes and the cars bound for the docks
slow almost imperceptibly as they pass.
iii
A heron wades at the water’s edge by Beaumaris pier: an accomplished,
stilt-walker’s strides – elegant, certain, considered, entertaining.
The setting sun casts our close shadows on the planking.
In the distance, cloud shadows cross Snowdonia.
And we say, as we always say, ‘This is so beautiful’:
its disparateness; the stillness of the air; the calm of the straits;
the prism of colours; the indifference of the heron…
which, suddenly and hugely, takes to the air, calling, calling…
CHUZPAH
Posted by David Selzer in Poetry on May 30th, 2010
A nor’ easterly blew – over Dutchman Bank -
on the front at Beaumaris, so we had
our chips, fish and mushy peas in the Vectra,
watching the ebb tide slowly, slowly expose
the furrowed gold of the Lavin Sands
and the cormorants and oyster catchers
skim the waves, when, suddenly, a herring gull,
that voracious omnivore, that frequenter
of rubbish tips and landfills – the colours
of its plumage pristine, as if painted -
landed on our bonnet and, not six feet
from a town council notice forbidding
the feeding of said beasts, watched us eat
each pea, chip, fish flake and morsel of batter -
meanwhile blocking the view – and then buggered off!
BULKELEY HOTEL, BEAUMARIS, YNYS MÔN
Posted by David Selzer in Poetry on October 30th, 2009
At twilight from the hills across the Straits, a sudden
drift of smoke – then a fire’s deep orange eye blinked.
We talked of cruising the Nile; of moon rise and sun set,
of the narrow compass of the earth’s curve;
the river pilots’ open armed, hand-on-heart salaams;
and the stars rushing through the night.
Â
Later and sleepless in the early hours,
I kept watch at the bedroom window.
The hotel sign lit a faded Union flag,
threadbare at its outer edges.
The only hint of the far shore was
sporadic lights on the A55.
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But the stars were unequivocal. In a cloudless,
unpolluted sky, how they teemed!
I saw the constellations pass
and the random magnificence of things revealed.
Understandably, you preferred to sleep.
And journey safely through the dark.
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