The Sea Calls Home Memory ebbs And flows like the tide It heals and it hurts It breaks and it binds It leaves a mark So soon washed away But never quite gone The Island remains Tide chases time Each nowhere to go They pass slowly here Together, alone Depths and shallows Each breath and each wave A rhythm rehearsed Song always the same Those lost adrift Are […]
The Sea Calls Home by Tia Jackson Read More »
After Mary Oliver I made these islands.I made the bonxie, and the ewe.I made the grey seal.This grey seal, I mean – the one who has hauled flipper and blubber out of the water,the one who is rock-bathing in the voe, who is biding time, taking rest – who is gazing out at orca fins
A Winter Day, Shetland by Louise Burke Morris Read More »
Floating I float, face down, and allow the water to engulf my senses, Until I am senseless, formless, nameless, Until I am the sea. Not the rush of a wave, but the slow ebb of the tide, As I surrender that which makes me human. I am on the precipice of drowning,Only a breath stands
Floating by Saffron Irons Read More »
ISLAND VOICES Island voices cry out‘Hi’ or ‘How yadoin?’Across a road or between people in a crowdNear by or far away Island people are different More used to doing things alone And more used to sharing InventiveAnd communalA good mix Islanders tend to give to those who askIsland people come from all corners of the
Island Voices by Anne Christina Nicolson Read More »
Brough of Birsay, Orkney I walk across the damp causeway sidestepping wet seaweed left behind by the outgoing tide. The sun tip-toes over the Brough its rays touching everything it touches in a tangerine glow.Passing the Viking settlement my feet sink into the machair abundantly studded with meadow flowers, their scent mingling in the sea-salted
Brough of Birsay, Orkney by Billie Bambridge Read More »
Da Shaetlan Wye A’m niver lost me sense o Nort. N by NE,whaar I wance stood a’da lichthoose dat would beamhame i’da winter, whaaridder fokk ir tint demsels i’da Roost,me beacon o licht i’da galewhaanda auld foghorn didn’a waarn. Twenty year on,A’m still learnin da name o geos,sea caves an taings,da taste o’da hedder berries
Camp Bay I’m longing to feel like myself again. The winter has been long and dark — cold and bleak. My mind has been as grey as the sky, my brain foggy and confused. I step onto the metal ladder, its rungs warm under my feet from the sun’s rays. I’m back in my special
Camp Bay by Kim Foreman Read More »
Island child Bubbling up from a land I cannot see,The clouds cast shadows on ground and seaAcross the noble down I roamAs gold boils down to its earthy tones.The pinnacles pale, pure and proudAre pointing westwards, guiding loud. Behind me stands the island that I fondly call my homeHer elements have shaped me, and from
Island Child by Rachel Lambert Read More »
Knapsack Wanderings The knapsack is ready by the door next to hiking boots still cased in mud and leaf litter from the lastouting in the forested tranquillity of the woods at Plantation House. The green bag contains theusual items: a bottle of water, snacks, plasters, sunglasses, small sun creams, insect repellent, houseand car keys, some
Knapsack Wanderings by Patricia Coyle Read More »
An Island Unknown The sun caressing ancient volcanic rock, the ocean ebbing to and fro, waiting only for whatcomes next.This iconic island seems worlds away from natural disasters in other distant lands.The people native to this iconic dot on an atlas have their own crosses to bear, but the food,the culture, the endless smiles are
An Island Unknown by Jane Marie O’Dean Read More »