Drift wood

The North Shield piers let go of me,
two arms, a hugging like farewell,
as we sail on into the sea
and England once again
is over, soon to be a memory.

As in a last hasty embrace
the piers stretch out for me
while drift wood finds its way
from river Tyne to sea.
Maybe the wood will wash ashore
the island where I live.

A raindrop moves down over window glass,
the waves are all that we can see.
The ferry now is on its own, the Sun appears
above a sudden deep blue sky
and standing on the deck
I close my eyes after the last goodbye.


Comments on: "Drift wood" (14)

  1. My father used to make lamps and wall hangings out of spidery and twisted driftwood from the South Florida shores.

  2. The photo looks to be during a nasty day.

    • Hi Harry, well the pic here was made on the arrival day actually, when there was storm and thunder etc. The day I left, was quite sunny lol. But there was a raindrop still moving over the window glass… A left over one from the previous rain I suppose!

  3. Ina, such a sweet and soothing write…i feel as though i am by your side as i read your words!
    So very uplifting! Thanks for sharing!

  4. sorry I couln’t make it to see you in leeds 😦

  5. Maybe the wood will wash ashore
    the island where I live.
    What an interesting, vital idea. The poems where you are specific about place and experience in place seem to always be strong, Ina, as is this poem.

    • Hi Thomas, thank you. I saw that piece of wood drifting and I wondered where it might end up.

  6. I agree with Thomas (I’m making a habit of following his comment with mine…)–you are so good at expressing a strong sense of place, even when you are traveling…as if–I think there is a song with lyrics–anywhere you hang ‘your hat’ is home. The opening lines are so good…personifying a place to set up the poignant farewell-ing of this poem!

    • Thank you so much Diane, I am very fortunate to have commenters who take the trouble to make my day 🙂

  7. I just love all of your poetry so much!!

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