Monday 3 November 2014


England lies as a smudged line
Squashed between sea and sky,
A thin graphite divide, parting
The mirroring grey of water and cloud.
Heritage, pomposity, human angst
Are temporarily erased,
Its 'might' reduced to being
a mean filling in a chunky sandwich.
Trees stud the hills opposite,
The Isle of Wight is defined,
Significant by its proximity
To our bobbing, windless, craft.
The tide drives us forward,
Decisions are held in balance,
Waiting and time suspended,
For the act of commitment,