the sea is my ghost
 
Tired heavy eyes
sieze each aching
isle, such
memoires you
gave, halting our softest tears,
 
trusting her.  Enshrined,
she exhumes aromas
isolated since
many years
gone – hush of silence.  Time
 
the haunting ends,
sister, end!  Allow
its stop –
Masefield’s young
gypsy hovering over slipping tide.
 
 
Alice Williamson
December 2013, Croatia
​

Autumn is early
 
It seems to be autumn
and I am here
pyjamas, pen in hand
 
a crossword below,
apples above
the air hinting at – smoke
 
In the near distance
a strimmer sings
Closer, the phone of a neighbour
 
To his gentle voice
my dog sleeps
heavy; deep in unknown dreams
 
as the leaves rustle soft
My brain calms –
the safety of an English breeze
 
*
 
It seems to be autumn
and I am here
pyjamas, pen in hand
 
​
Alice Mary Williamson
24th August 2020
​