This week's imagery comes courtesy of Robbie Dark, a young islander with a self confessed volition for quiet space and strange light.

Everywhere Dwell

I can’t remember the last place I called home

It’s been roads, roads as long as memory stretches

Through gloamings, dawns and storm fetches

Here for a time, there a little more, no abodes

Like the lines round Cataclews whip the shore

The last address a sofa, half a bed, nowhere more

Sink-holes worse than hell for the being alive

But always this unsettled landscape that accepts

No ego, no pride, no promise, no score

Home isn’t my bag or my stories or my books

It doesn’t judge, or whisper, bear a grudge

In that infinite expanse of blue tomorrows

And grey-green todays, thumping yesterday mornings

That make the bone in my ears grow shut

Getting licked by uncomfortable lips

Turned sideways, no ways, broken, cut

Shoulders bent and knees click

Ripped by lateral drift and sheer sheets

Home follows me around asking insistent questions

Calling with a silver tongue that quickens

Floats the dwelling, floods the maybes

Swift runs the tide, to back of beyond

Temporary as passing swell, as today, as life

Home is the sand in my ears and mouth

Home is the truth that I tell myself

photo by Robbie Dark
photo by Robbie Dark

Samsara Interruptus – The Barnacle

Harnessed first the rorqual muzzle, sudden breach through subcutaqua

Cut adrift

Tossed loose amongst the shoreline thrift to dodge the many bladed beaks

And seized

Borne crawwise cublike to seacliff nest

Fumbled midflight chute to harbour brine

HMS Barnacle

At last hull-crunched on distant coral

Steersmith drowning sorrow,

Whisky-lidded,

Simply misjudged the draw

photo by Robbie Dark
photo by Robbie Dark

Stand Alight

I want to wake up in some far harbour

Let the cold wind drown

The bleak shriek of gulls

Steal the stench of fish guts

From the drips of my nose

I want to wake up in this forgotten place

Where the furious brine

Asks insistent questions

And the bells that top the boatmasts

Never stop their chime

I want to wake up in a forlorn building

The loose windows rattling

Where all that matters is the play of the wind

On water near or far

The clashing revolution of isobars

I want to wake up there now

Let your beauty cut my skin each day

And sew it shut by night

Remember to forget the way

You stood always in the light

photo by Robbie Dark
photo by Robbie Dark

For more of Robbie's work visit: http://www.robbiedark.com