Wait Return

At last the farthest, bleakest

reach  had been inhabited.

I had gone there, promontory

of shale and shell, grey

jutland of stones and stones

abandoned by birds

gained between tides, my

place of waiting.

 

Who went to this edge with me?

No-one.  No-one lives in this district.

Or watching me cross the gull-dumb sand, who? 

No-one.

 

Coming back,

stumbling over stones, jog-trotting it

up the beach

I saw, behind, a hand

breaking

like a vacant face from the sea. 

Reviews

[Mauricio Montoya]

I could go in many direction with this piece but I will say this, poetry is an art and here you’ve done just that. Nice work.

[Cherrie]

I hope some more people find this poem it is well done:)

[Ron]

It is so rare to see work where so few words mean so much! The allegories swarm from the spare lines in a way that reminds me of Robert Frost but Thurston provides grittier meanings to my mind. This work brings to my mind a difficult, grey movements through life as the write strives to keep ahead of fate or death. The poem is haunted by loneliness or solitude. This poem is edgy in the old fashioned sense. Pushes the reader to contemplate his own scramble through life and where there own fate conveyed them. Just superb!