Journal

I found this piece of sea-worn timber on Musselwick Sands during the winter, but it only came to light again yesterday while I was tidying (!). I was sure from the start that it reminded me of something; possibly Salvador Dali’s painting Sleep?

Painted a long time ago, in 2010. I tend not to paint so “flatly” these days. This is looking North-West; the high tide island is Gateholm and across the sound is Skokholm, a very important sea bird reserve.

Oil on panel
12″ x 16″
Private collection

The Poetry Engine has fired up for the first time in ages! Some people like to see my original drafts: keep scrolling down if you are interested.

MUSSELWICK BOOKWORMS
May 15^th 2025

The weather was on Best Behaviour yesterday, so I had to go for a swim;
But I might have gone down anyway, for the filthy state I was in!
I’d been boring concrete, holes for bolts, and with the afternoon air so dry
A ten mil drill, max percussion, had really made the dust fly.

Such a rush to reach the beach, the tide was well past low;
But I managed to get round onto the sand, quickly into the sea did go.
And after I had swum, then dried, in clean clothes to make me civilised
A splosh along the wave-washed strand, a wade, and then – back on dry land.

And there, sat on those sun-warmed rocks, such a picture to delight:
Three ladies all a-reading, with occasional glances at the gannets’ flights.
I’m sure that at least the one of them had previously swum,
Then dressed again in haste: methought I spied a dampish bum!

The important point is, they were READING: reading, praise their souls –
Not gawping into silly screens, disappearing down electronic rabbit holes.

The lady whom I spoke to, friendly, smiling, kind,
Was so proud of her tatty red hardback, a lucky charity shop find.
She told me with conviction she was loving Karen Blixen:
Short stories, these, from Denmark – this time, Africa left behind.

The keen lass nearer to the sea, she waved a doorstop so I’d see.
Then straight away, back to her words; but don’t think she had to be a nerd:
Perhaps not Harry Potter, but a compendium of VS Naipaul –
Or there again, Philip Pullman is not to be sniffed at at all.

The youngest of the three, she had little time for me:
Like a combine harvester, she ate down each page so voraciously…
Well, bless her and bless them all, print-absorbed beside the sparkling blue:
Taking a book down to the shore – there are far worse things you could do!

© Christopher Jessop  2025

I have been catching up in the vegetable garden; as always, pottery pieces appear.