Ossify written by Polly Oliver at Spillwords.com



written by: Polly Oliver



The edge of this land

Is not the shining granite of home;

That ancient mosaic of mica,

felspar, quartz- impervious.

These cliffs are made of bones.


Built from soft-sinking skeletal dust

Of creatures that trawled warm shallows

And strange depths; molluscs, corals.

Soluble; slowly stripped by endless shoals

Of flicking rain drops, borne on countless storms-

Massing into rivulets that, pushed by time, bore

Secret winding ways into the core.

There, waves push and roar

Beneath my feet in caves unseen;

The challenge of  a salt-bearded god

to cloud-riding Thor.

Last night, the clouds hurled diamonds

Onto whistling grass and gorse,

That flash a million rainbows

To the face of the laundered sun.

In the pillowing dark billows

Of the tearing moon-streaked storm

My soul rose and fell, then finally sank

To blackest stillness where the scream

Of tempest was a distant hiss.

Then hauled by tide to the base of the cliff,

Was shoved into gloom of a sea-scraped den,

Out of the shining beam of morning.

There my washed wreckage

Can whiten in the barnacled black,

Like the ancient bones of a seafarer;

Ossifying in the echo of breakers.

Polly Oliver

Polly Oliver

JAN/FEB 2017 AUTHOR OF THE MONTH at Spillwords.com
A mother of two boys, scribbling from the Western coasts of the UK, mainly poetry, but whatever comes out really. Former journalist and PR professional, the first whispers of middle age and declining eyesight made having a real go at 'real writing' a little more urgent. A Cornish native, I made my home in South West Wales so the sound of the sea sighs through my work every now and then. Lover of nature, yoga, boutique coffee shops and occasional (and very dreadful) surfer.
Polly Oliver

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