False Horizon

Bideford
Barmouth
Aberystwyth
Portmerion
Rye
Brixham
Arbroath
Port Isaac
Lame Town
Banff

The small boy sits snugly in the chair
outside the rain rips through the garden.
He takes a sip of his mama's cocoa.

He picks up 'Tales of the South China Seas'
and reads then pales at "To Toby from Jack"
He speaks but fails to bring him home.

Toby skims the pages of pirates and natives,
grunting like pigs, in monochrome plates.
The tropic sunset rigs the purple sky with gold

A little British Steamer up the Malacca Straits
is chugging by the dreamer as he goes to grip his sword.
Ahh the little schemer, he can almost feel the hoard.

His mother calls, it's time for bed
He marches up the hall as rain beats on the roof
and the bugle thunder falls in a distant far-off land.

Blue Star
Pacific And Orient
Bridge Steam Navigation
Harrison's
Lamport And Holt
British Petroleum
Smith's
Ellerman's
Cunard
Booth

The winds roll in, pushing surf'n'spray.
Tarps wrack deck and bulwark,
a thousand wires tattoo
the small-boat masts in manic torture.
A pilot boat at the quay-steps
bounces off and rides the grey-rope fenders.
The Pilot sniffs the air. The radio says
a front is coming fast, but he's a Dutch oil boat
to bring in before night-fall. He lifts
a hand, the ropes are dropped and the boat
horse-jumps down the estaury to the bar,

where the waiting tanker wallows impatiently
for him beside the bar-bells desperate clang.
The Ship's Master stands before the radar,
his face uplit from the cold quiet CRT.
He tries to match the outlines out there
with the orange blobs across the screen.
The windscreen wiper circles madly.

The helmsman captures the small wheel
the repeater's glow lights
his moustache and well-padded face.
He wrestles as the ship whips like a terrier
as it tries to grip the big dog's back.

Outside, the Indonesian crewmen
drop the pilot-ladder down the side,
the big spreaders twisting against the rust-streaked
drab-black hull that's trying to dog-roll
deeper into the grey unseen sea.
They watch for the pilot-boat
through the swathes of rain.
Behind them they know
the depression crunching in
the high-winds and blinding rain. The cold.
Hands shoved into grimy pockets
and the rain over the tip of their plastic
water-proofs, they wait
for payday, dream of clean cothes, hot dinners,
a steady floor, someone to put the tea on for.
Most of all,
they wait to be called to bed

Skerries
Mizen Head
Spurn Point
Cape Wrath
Trevose
Wolf Rock
Casquets
Rubha Nan Gall
Tor Ness
Rock Island Point