At my feet
white campion and grasses
purr at a stroking wind,
beneath a low belly of grey clouds.
Floating, weightless,
I am queen of the castle.
Once we were all kings and queens.
With torn sheet cloaks,
And make-shift thrones.
Castles rimmed with salty moats.
Caught within the frame,
a boomerang curve corrals the sea.
Screen-shine on the water
wettens the ripples,
smooths the lower pasture fields.
Unfamiliar, yet long-known.
This air, this sea, this light,
these Dorset hills that blanket me
to sleep at night.
I am bone worn to shape,
hurtling through the years
and falling here back at
Golden Cap.
Dorset will undoubtedly be featuring more and more in my posts. We are loving exploring the walks and countryside in this beautiful county. My family often holidayed here for one precious week a year when I was a child. Gritty sandwiches and bracing sea were the order of the day, and, of course, chipping out little ammonite fossils from the rocks. I’m linking this to dVerse Open Link Night (https://dversepoets.com/2021/09/16/open-link-night-300-september-live/)
Writing Whatnots 
Hey Marion, I know and love Dorset too… artfully conjured here and Yes indeed, your poem makes you queen for the night, tonight
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Thank you Scott 😊
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This is incredibly stunning! I so love; “Castles rimmed with salty moats.” 💝💝
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Thank you Sanaa – we whiled away many happy hours building sandcastles 😊
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What an idyllic feel to the place you describe and when I see that photo, even more convinced. Have you moved to the area, Marion? Really enjoyed this:
“these Dorset hills that blanket me
to sleep at night.”
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It is idyllic 😊. Yes, we are in the process of moving over here. So lucky.
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Beatiful and very atmospheric!
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Thank you Worms.😊
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This is so nostalgically beautiful! I’ve only ever been to Weymouth, but I’ve very fond memories of taking my eldest son there when he was just a toddler.
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If you ever get the chance, a walk along any of the south west coastal path is well worth the aching legs 😊
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A lovely sense of place in this, as well as the echo of the lost magic of childhood, somehow retained in the purring wind and author’s understanding of her final shape. Being in touch with that very real world puts our artificialities in perspective, I think.
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fond memories of weymoth on a school trip many years ago have resurfaced thanks to your poem. thank you
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Pleased to have rekindled them. 😊
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Thank you Joy. That’s so well put – yes, we deceive ourselves sometimes about what matters.
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I have places from my childhood that are exactly like that… I hope to be able to explore them, becoming a king again.
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I hope so too 🙂
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