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.