Photo by Michael Mahood on Unsplash

 
 

    From the Sea-window

 

The tide’s going out.
The heron stalks the rock pools.
A dunlin picks its way through the seaweed.
A black poodle paddles in the shallows.
The ladies who swim wade ashore
and take off their wetsuits and pink floats.
The heron has now solidified
and waits.
On the flat rock a baby gull runs
to catch up with its mother.
On another rock some shags form a line.
Offshore a lobster boat checks the creels.
Glint of sun on water – it’s taken till now
till nearly twelve for things to move
and me to nod off over Penelope Shuttle’s poems,
dreaming of salt and clothes pegs.

 
 
 

    Heron on the Rocks

 

For some reason this heron
is not going to budge from
this bit of rock.
The seagulls are confident
its theirs. They dive-
bomb the heron who stabs
his beak at them and squawks.
One gull tries solo without luck
then rounds up its mates
and they all have a go.
After ten minutes of near-hits
the heron says, ‘Sod this
for a game of sailors’
and flaps off. A gull follows
to make sure he beats it.
They all cry victory
and settle down before
the tide comes in.