Compass Point Lullabies for Emily




Some-one re-threads a fishing rod by torchlight

then re-beads the line with Ugie Droplets.

Later he reels in newspaper then walks homewards.



Waves crack their knuckles on shadowed sea-walls

and suck their teeth through rust-ribbed lobsterpots.

At the sailing club, sails dry into the night.

A woman closes shutters like oak eyelids.



Instead of milk-pails, men pile up oil-drums

to blot the moon. Their hearts tick in time to

the spattering pipelines and rain on hard-hats.

They shine torches on skeins instead of helicopters.



Combine harvesters hum into the night –

spitting stems in wake across rutted earth.

Sparrows chorus with the farmer’s whistles.

They guide him home, flitting between branches.

unpublished poem, © Magnus Dixon 2019, used by permission of the author.

The free tracks you can enjoy in the Poetry Archive are a selection of a poet’s work. Our catalogue store includes many more recordings which you can download to your device.