"Ghosts of Devon"

 When I was a boy family holidays were mostly spent in Cornwall and North Devon.  A trip back in later life provided a mixture feelings

  

For thirty years

upon this shop’s wire rack

this book has lain:

bought, sold, restocked,

bought, sold

and stocked again.

And now I shuffle through

its creamy leaves:

the misty wanderings of souls in pain,

the dead of these stark fields.

I remember it from times before

on Hartland Quay:

buying ice cream, and postcards

of the Point;

or sitting in the car

to watch the rain,

and sipping at a cup of thermos tea.

The turn of every corner of the lane,

the hedges high as castles

and the sea

still dashing at the rocks

again, again –

the sudden childish heart,

the soul of me.

Here are the parents

of my childhood days.

Here are their faces

in my sleep.

You hear me breathing

in the thundering dark.

You see me weep.