Home to the harbour lights

Poem by Rosie Adamson-Clark

Across the ink dark oily sludge,
It could not be called water,
Surely not,
Muck that flowed slow
As treacle from the dented
Tin in our kitchen cupboard,

I had cycled out to the stone steps to sit awhile,
Pushing aside the old year,
Welcoming in the New as best I could,
Tidal flow lapping at my good new boots,
I noticed the winking,
Friendly like over the way,

First one side, then tother,
Off on, off on,
The harbour lights,
Like 2 blinking eyes,
Guiding vessels to safety,
Never dimming,
On in all weathers,
Welcoming water weary seamen,
Smiles, relief to mirror the bright sparkle,
In the damp grinding cold of the night,

Like stars in a moonless sky,
Or a string of fairy lights on the tree,
Chug, chug, as engines motored down,
The vessel arrived safely,
Thanks to the guiding lights,

I turned the dynamo
On my bike and rode home
Cheered by illumination
From the slim shaft of light
Hitting cats eyes.

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