THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA

Bordeaux Bay, where I've lived for several years, is one of the most attractive coastal areas in Guernsey and during summer it's particularly beautiful.
The photograph, taken by my multi-talented wife, Jane, captures a warm late-afternoon earlier in June.

BARD AT BAY

The granite sea-wall retains heat

so here I choose to pause and watch

the bead-bright fishing-boats at rest,

or bathers, by the slipway, splash,

dive in and scream and reenact

the antics of last year’s warm days.

I try to count the fish that shoal

in hundreds down below the wall:

young mullet, camouflaged and swift,

uncountable, a multitude.

This north coast bay where I’ve washed up,

as flotsam does, is changeable:

tide hastens in, then tide retreats

and coloured boats, like fairground rides,

prance, then lie still, then dance again.

The distant islands, Herm and Sark,

slip in and out of white sea-mist.

and were I painterly, each hour

at Bordeaux surely would surprise

with some fresh image to record.

Now here I sit, the June sun sweet

as kisses on my upturned face,

the granite’s heat a remedy

for old bones nothing else will soothe.

This pleasing warmth, so comforting,

is transitory, gone too soon.

Time speeds away yet still I cleave

to this old sea-wall, granite-rough,

but, hour by hour, its heat will fade

and night will follow soon enough.