Promontory: a poem


I’ve been here many times
and taken many photographs;
what’s become of them, I’ve no idea, although
none stand comparison to memory.
No hard drive’s yet been built to beat
the soft stuff in our heads.

Late March: it’s cool, but not too cool.
The sun is low and turns the peaks
of small waves into lights
that flicker on and off. Geese
brush them with their wing-tips – this
is an aerodrome for geese, though built
(unlike the human kind) for peace.

(c) 2015 Sackerson



8 thoughts on “Promontory: a poem

  1. A lovely poem, Dominic, especially for those of us who have a natural affinity for the remoteness and solitude of promontories. And I quite agree with your observation that the photos, however well made, seldom capture the richness of one’s memory of a place.

  2. I so agree with George. However much of an image we have of a place in our heads, when we revisit the experience always surpasses what we are expecting, especially when it is a place of peace and tranquility.

  3. Memory in my head are so much more important to me than photographs. So you are called Dominic. I like your words.

  4. Just read this Dominic and I like it (Carmen too). Killer rhyme of ‘geese’ and ‘peace’ — very effective. Love the play between hard and soft, the implicit analogy between the hardness of human war planes and the softness of goose flight, the contrast of manmade landing lights with nature’s flickering lights… A promontory would also suggest something out on a limb, on the edge perhaps between hard and soft, human and animal, threatening and safe, a kind of gateway to the soft-imaginative. My only criticism would be that ‘aerodrome’ relies on the negative war-association meaning — when, of course, it doesn’t always imply that.

    1. Thanks for that. You’re right, I think, about the definition of “aerodrome”. I do think it more suggestive of the military than “airport”. I was thinking of the ones that proliferated in Lincolnshire!

  5. Thank you for visiting. You have a point about the men with clip boards; conspiring to spend our tax dollars.
    I must add a bit about aerodromes. My father was an engineer on the blimps that escorted convoys during the war. Of course I was too young and in the wrong place to have any negative associations of time and place. To me the only aerodrome ever housed the Goodyear blimps in Akron, Ohio where i grew up. Your analogy gave me an instant impression of grace, and flash. Blimps were and are as silent and as awesome as a goose in flight.

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