The Crossing (Instant poetry just add water)

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Heading set,
going deep between
Howth and Poolbeg
on a path of silver shillings
tossed from a mist crowned sun.

The horizon looms,
a mountain of blue mauve cloud
that sits squat compressed between
tungsten sky and mercury sea

Further out Kish to port
and big diesel engines open up
and shout defiance.

Steel shudders under trembling legs
as land lubbers blanch
and sink into leatherette
and blue carpet.

The Sugarloaf dips into the deep,
white churned bow wave
rides the road already travelled.
Ahead, Holyhead
and the mystery of that country.

The old enemy,
friends and family.

Floating,
a dot equidistant
from green to red & blue
landmarks only seen
on charts and green electric screens.
Lost in the leisure of crossing.

-Dave Kavanagh

On route to Holyhead from Dublin. 40mins out watching Dublin disappear.

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