Head Land

Hartland Point, North Devon.
Where the Bristol Channel meets the Atlantic.

I wrote this poem after reading about a young woman who had jumped off a cliff. I wondered what had been going through her mind and the mental state she must have been in as she contemplated jumping.


Head-land

On the headland listening
to the sea breathing.
Wrapped in warm smells of gorse
she watches waves sail in and out.
Mist cloaked white horses gallop ashore
crash into the headland and roar.
Gulls soar high, rising on thermals
calling out like laughing schoolgirls.
Her mind a keystone looming large,
a grinder, milling memories
to rust, blown away as fine dust.
Aeons of a ground down life
now trampled in the dirt and sand,
cut short by life’s knives.
Her mind a vacuum, the memories
replaced by whispered calls  of Neirids
urging softly  ‘go on, you can do it’.
Zephyrs dance, gently stroke her face,
blow soft scents of spice and mace.
Distant ancients of deep, dark earth
the Haliai sigh ‘this is what you wanted’.
Rising like Lazarus, arms wide,
her soul flowing to the universe.
The gulls still laughing call -
‘go on, you can do it’.
She falls, flies, cries,
the moon sighs.
Drifting free
she joins the sea that
breathes in and breathes out.



Copyright Diana Leighton 2013 
 This poem was selected as a winner in part of the Forward Poetry one week challenge and is to be published shortly.