My Secret Poem

Last week we held our Starting out in Poetry retreat with tutors Jo Shapcott and Maura Dooley.

Helen Reid-Thomas attended the course and wrote this poem about her experiences here. She has kindly allowed us to share it with you all.


The journey



Smirr and marram-grass;
the piu-piu of bird-cry and the sea’s whisper.
I stood to listen, then turned the car and pointed south.
To the right Ben Loyal’s turrets,
Loch Loyal to my left;
a sliver of light runs down its waters;
the sun breaks through the mirk.


At Sturie Hill the car filled, suddenly,
with the scent of coconut.
Enveloped in arches of yellow and green,
I was astounded,
I laughed for happiness.


By Foxhole to Moniack Mhor.
Why have I come here?
I want to go back to the rocks and the sea.
I don’t want to write poetry –
I can’t write poetry.
Reluctantly I turn in at the gate.
Heather stands waving:
a hug of welcome.

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