Tom Rudge's The Road to Devon

Tom Rudge has published a new volume entitled The road to Devon.

According to Tom, the road to Devon runs through the county of Somerset. Tom grew up on the borders of the two counties and has spent his life travelling the roads between them. His booklet brings together 11 poems inspired "at least in part" by roads and places on these travels.

It is published by Camless Press, a new specialist publisher, and you can obtain a copy for £4 by contacting pfblog99 at gmail.com. Payment will be by paypal.

Burnham Beach - video version

Tom Rudge's On Burnham Beach is now on YouTube:

Somerset Moths

Lured by the warmth of summer sun on tarmac,
Lingering long here beyond the fall of darkness:
Trapped between high honeysuckle hedges:
Caught by my hurrying headlights.

I never saw moths like this, a summer blizzard,
Each flashing into brightness just as it withers.
Leopard, tiger, ermine, gypsy, emperor
crackle upon my bumper.

What am I to them? First warmth and honeysuckle
and the comforting dark. Then a ton of metal
Mangling their world, a furious Abaddon,
hurling bright wings to oblivion.

I cannot stop. I am held upon this course
that smashes their fragility. I am forced
by fear for a broken child, to follow his fall
and hurry after him to hospital.

Colin Gibson
Copyright: By application

Last poem by this writer

Running along the beach

Fear binds me as I start to write
Fear after so long holding back
Fear that someone will read
and see what I've become
Fear that no-one will.


So let me write like running along a beach
that stretches to the limitless.
Your waves yelling upon her, shouting me on:
Your winds and clouds wrestling for the sky
and all Your stars are blazing.


And me running, shouting Your name,
Delirious and ridiculous, and wanting
Each breath, step, yell, stride, stretch,
to reach You
Like a demented lover
Like a prisoner in a last dash for freedom
Like a splinter burned in unconsuming fire.


Colin Gibson
Copyright: By application

On Burnham Beach

The sand is mud and it's a struggle
to reach the sea
it departs fast here
and returns slower

Those who tread this path
will sink in mire before
they reach the cool water

and those who're in
the Channel
are swept to the west

Stranded in Bridgwater Bay
there's no causeway here
so foot by foot
they press to the shore
losing ankles, thighs
and waist in the
clawing estuary
until
they can move no more
and will not rise
when the water surges

Oh i'd tumble in crashing waves
turn, tide, turn,
turn again to the shore
i'd ride on your surf
drift on the current
fall from a board
somersault in these
Somerset waters
float on the swell
taste your salt

Lift me from this sand
i can't reach your water
and can't wait for it
to come to me

Let every day be spring
when the Easter tide rises high
freeing all from beach
and estuary
let the Severn's roll take me onward
past Hinkley and Watchet
to Minehead, Porlock
where the sea's magnificent
against cliff and rock
the lights of Wales
shine like stars
and Burnham's mud is no more

Tom Rudge, Devon
Copyright: By application

Last by this author