MEDINA BASIN

Posted by Admin on Thursday, 25th May 2006, 00:00

An elongated skyscape fills with cumuli,
ballooning white on blue.
From rolling downs, empurpled now, the shadow-play
descends to gently sloping fields where Jersey cows
are muzzle-deep in meadow grass and clover –
ineffably serene.
Medina, seen in steel-bright sections, darkles, glints,
and takes a gaff-rigged, tan-sailed cutter to the
sea.
An archaeologist, a plano-convex flint in hand,
there contemplates the past.
The sound of far off traffic dies:
the church spires and the dwellings fade.
Afforested, the foreground now presents the first
metropolis of Stone Age Wight – alive with nude
eoan folk, uncouth and unaware that with
their celts and shards and neoliths all history
has begun.

 

From The Hounds of Cridmore and Other Isle of Wight Poems, a book of Mr Hudson’s poetry with many illustrations by Heather Cobb.

 

T. C. Hudson

© T. C. Hudson.

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