Posted by Admin on 25 May 2006, 12:00 am
Epitome of summer, gracefully she rides,
voicing her plaints to a warmth-absorbing quay.
The fenders speak: the harbour’s bosom
moves almost imperceptibly to soothe her
curbed impatience for the sea.
Immaculate against old stone, her hull,
the white enamel intricately veined,
juggles with silver baubles tossed in
heliolatry by the sun-struck tide.
Mithraic chrome, that curves to sheer,
flashes its sophistication to the day.
Aloft her bunting stirs, an undefiant
pennon, half expectant of a breeze;
while radar on the wheel-house waits to scan
a Solent aquarelle, celeste and opaline,
somnolent in an August afternoon.
From The Hounds of Cridmore and Other Isle of Wight Poems, a book of Mr Hudson’s poetry with many illustrations by Heather Cobb.
T. C. Hudson
© T. C. Hudson.
This work may not be reproduced without prior permission of the author.
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