From The Shore

Good Morning, 

This poem is for David, Sean and Darren. Dedicated to them as the men I have grown to know and admire. The few last fishing men in Staithes. 

From The Shore

The piecing cry of scattered gull

As the engine turns pulsating hull

Salty sand, peppers weathered skin

As they head from the shore ignoring the din

Masters of the sea, they slice through the surf

As one with her they know her worth

How bountiful a treasure they might find

Then unforgiving in her cold unkind

Testing their skills on Lady Sea 

Breaking her waters wild and free

These fishing men from Northern Shore

Who dance with death they know the score

By Helen Stallard
August 27, 2014

Neptune's Hand

Good Evenings, 
I would like to dedicate this poem to the RNLI life guard crew at Staithes in North Yorkshire especially, but also to RNLI crews everywhere. One life guards words especially inspired this poem. I can only hope that you will see their job as importantly as I do. The RNLI gain no government funding and are run on only public donations. They are truly voiceless heroes.


Neptune's Hand 

Pounding the cliffs this storm does roar
Breaching defences and raping this shore

Toying with boulders as pebbles in hand
Baying white horses threaten this land

These fearless lifeguards cut through waves
As freely this night another life's saved

Howling winds scream into my lungs
Day's dawn breaks and the sea has won

Scattered debris lays spewed on the sand
Now this tide retreats under Neptune's hand


By Helen Stallard
August 27, 2014.

Recompences

Good Morning, 
It's a simple word, but one many struggle with. I always say to my children that sorry is a word often spoken to little and always to late. Sorry is only worth it's salt if you only have to apologise for something once. More than once for the same offence and it becomes nothing other than another word. 

Recompenses

Do you see where you have been?

What you leave upon your wake?

How you impacted on others?

While you made your mistakes!

Move past where you think you are,

Reflection won't mend fences.

That genuine heart felt sorry,

Will build your recompenses.

By Helen Stallard

August 24, 2014.

Tipping Point

Good Evening All, 
This small poem serves me as a reminder that we are not infallible. Be it an allergy, Mother Nature or general deterioration. We are smaller than we care to think.


Tipping Point

A grain of sand - one spec of dust
A spore of mould - one patch of rust
A drop of water - one flake of snow
Can tip the balance and down we go


By Helen Stallard

August 23, 2014

Northern Shore

Good Morning :)
My absence has been due to a holiday on the coastline of North Yorkshire. One of my favourite places on this world of ours. This little fishing village has an affect on me that few other places do. Not only do I adore that area, I also adore the folk that live there. It is becoming lost to a fierce holiday trade, that threatens it's very existence and this saddens me greatly. Few such places greet you with as warm a welcome. My goal is to live there, but until then I will share a few of the poems I have penned while there.

Northern Shore

This picture postcard place for me

Infringed in part by bountiful sea

Is not as you'd find on warmer shores

With it's Dog Loup there's so much more

Buxom women and men with pride

No effort in keeping their souls alive

To graft and fight to drag in a haul

Then heave it up the harbour walls

Man is man in this nautical land

It's mother's greet you with helping hands

Bairns are bonnie and a families heart

All moralled with their Northern start

To this rugged shore, to these rugged lands

I tip my hat and raise my hand

As each time I leave, I always find

A small piece of my remains behind

By Helen Stallard

August 22, 2014.