Issue 9: Peter Carpenter (for Peter Robinson)
The Walk Outfor Peter Robinson at sixty
The very last of October and blackberries
still there, edible, past barbed wire coiling
from fence-posts in diminishing concentrics
and it’s cumulus that’s built up a case
over an old haunt, the beach at Walberswick.
We are left to imagine it -- the tide angling
into gradations of pebbles, staggered groynes.
Verticals in flat-lands play such funny tricks
so let’s keep our heads down, take in bracken,
its fish-spine patterns, ivy over flint, hacked-at
nettles spring-green, resurgent, a sign for ‘loose
recyclables only’. On this ‘characteristic’ open
heath we might catch silver studded blue butterflies,
and, later on, there’s the strong chance of stargazing.