Taxman

Adriaen van Ostade

Taxman

Seven scythes leaned at the wall.

Beard upon golden beard

The last barley load

Swayed through the yard.

The girls uncorked the ale.

Fiddle and feet moved together.

Then between stubble and heather

A horseman rode.

George Mackay Brown 

 

I love the image this poem paints - after all the the hard work, the sweat of the season, the worry over the weather, finally, the harvest is in! 

It's done!

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief, and the sweet moment of completion inspires

dancing, drinking, feasting ----

 

 

until a familiar figure rises in the distance...

 

 

 

Funny/not funny, right?

 

 

 

Beachcomber

Angie Lewin

Beachcomber

Monday I found a boot –

Rust and salt leather.

I gave it back to the sea, to dance in.

Tuesday a spar of timber worth thirty bob.

Next winter

It will be a chair, a coffin, a bed.

Wednesday a half can of Swedish spirits.

I tilted my head.

The shore was cold with mermaids and angels.

Thursday I got nothing, seaweed,

A whale bone,

Wet feet and a loud cough.

Friday I held a seaman’s skull,

Sand spilling from it

The way time is told on kirkyard stones.

Saturday a barrel of sodden oranges.

A Spanish ship

Was wrecked last month at The Kame.

Sunday, for fear of the elders,

I sit on my bum.

What’s heaven? A sea chest with a thousand gold coins.

George Mackay Brown

What’s Heaven? Hunting for beautiful shells and sea glass on the beach. I now understand the excitement of a storm, not just the storm itself, but the treasures it kicks up, the opportunities for discovery. This poem is for Janelle and Callie and all the other beachcombers I've come to know over the years. Here's to the hunt!