Poems by Natalie

In Monday's workshop we were all amazed as the secret lives of creatures living in the dunes were revealed. These lovely poems by Natalie Hunt capture this and more . . .

Inspired by the Birkdale Nightingales

It’s a tough life for a natterjack,
So many obstacles in their path,
From roads to gulls to drought,
Who knows if they’ll always win out :(

Sonnet

At first all I can hear is the wind rustling through the marram.
A skylark erupts from the grassy tufts,
spiralling upwards, its tuneful song filling the air.

The sun shines almost blindingly,
casting dark shadows from the top of the dune.
A solitary line of footprints shows one person has been before.

The warmth of the sun will bring out my freckles!
I can taste the salt in the air,
and the smell of the sea as the breeze strengthens.

What was that? A flash of vivid green?
I catch a glimpse of spots and stripes,
and a long tail camouflaged amongst the marram.

Could it be a sand lizard? I hardly dare to hope!
Yes, it is! At last I’ve seen one, and I wasn’t even looking...

Natalie

 

Sarah's Sonnet

 

If you are missing the dunes, this beautiful poem by Sarah Hockham, written in last Monday's workshop, will transport you there . . .

An Encounter in the Dunes

 

A seagull’s cry fades into the distance as it wheels and dives in its sky dance

A soft breeze rustles through grassy tufts

Rhythmic waves gently lap against the shore

 

Soft ripples in the sand create a recurring pattern

Broken only by the footprints of an earlier visitor

A wide blue sky meets the whispering grass

 

Salt lingers in the air and on the tongue

Sun rays warm bare skin

My feet sink pleasantly with each step as if the landscape is enveloping me

 

Suddenly, an emerald shines in the sand - except this little gem has beady eyes!

An inquisitive face emerges, followed by a speckled body and long tail

He stops and thirstily drinks up the sun

 

My mood instantly lifts

I’m so happy this living jewel became a part of my day

 

Sarah Hockham

Poems by Nicola Baines

Here are some more poems inspired by the first workshop. Thank you Nicola for letting us see the dunes through your eyes, and through the eyes of a hawk! These poems show how we can use what we know through our senses, and through our imagination, to create something magical.

Harebells nodding

Butterflies flitting

Grasses waving

Newts staring

Crows cawing

Dragonflies zipping

Bees buzzing

Water rippling

Driftwood standing

Shells crunching

Orchids hiding

Tadpoles wiggling

Buckthorn prickling

Sand whispering

Rose gall feathering

Sun beaming

Wind whispering

Chafers burrowing

Surf breaking

Me absorbing

 

Fresh Eyes

I fly in my kestrel form, it's safer this way.  

Scanning the environment with the sharp eyes of a raptor, I note that we have everything we need for our nights work.  

I perch aloft in a treetop waiting for the others to arrive.    

Below me lies an ancient monument, a circular construction of stone with odd shaped cells of which we will use only one for the coven to be held tonight.

 

Kids in the Dunes

It was her wish to have a party in the dunes, she's the birthday girl in the centre with the dark hair.  A treasure hunt followed by an obstacle race, her Dad good naturedly agreeing to be one of the obstacles.  Summer fun in the hot, hot sun followed by cool lemonade, jelly and birthday cake.

Poems by Ian Homewood

 

During Monday's workshop, Ian Homewood wrote a series a wonderful poems. His appreciation for this place, and the creatures who live there, shines through them. As Ian said on the night, they are love poems really, for a place that brings wonder and awe. Thank you Ian for your contributions to the session and for these poems . . .

Birkdale Nightingales

Hardships and hazards are a matter of fact
For these brave little vertebrates
Too wet or too dry, too soft or hard packed
The landscape just doesn't co-operate

Yet still they persist to let it be known
They are here and intend to remain
And their song is proof the nightingale has not flown
And the couples unite once again

naturebftb.co.uk

Lunch In The Dunes - A Close Encounter

Breeze in the grasses
Surf on the shore
The creak of sand underfoot
Prints of someone before me
Or perhaps of several
Disturbing the rippled sand
Salt in the air
More on my sandwich
Sun grazing my exposed face
As I stand there, a flash of green
Captures my attention and my breath
He's vivid and stately with head held high
And I thrill at this chance encounter
With the beauty that nature exhibits


As I stand There

As I stand there a flash of green
Captures my attention and my breath
So startled by what I've seen
So taken with this wondrous scene
I'll take this moment to my death

Over the Ridge by Katy Perry

 

On Monday 1^st February, we held the second in our series of creative writing sessions. Fiona and Andrew guided us into the world of creatures inhabiting the dunes, and we used our creativity to explore it further. If you want to read a beautiful sonnet inspired by the landscape and its creatures, we have one right here. This was written on the night by participant Katy Perry . . .

Over the Ridge – Katy Perry 

 

The gulls cry up above, broken by concealed laughter, 

The wind rustles gently through the grassy banks, 

I hear the promise of water over the ridge, faint waves breaking. 

 

The sand moves like water, undulating in the wind, 

The blue sky seems to stretch forever – broken only by seemingly untethered kites, 

Footprints fade into the sand, erasing the presence of excited beachgoers. 

 

The salt in the air is present on my lips, 

The heat of the sun warms my skin, 

I feel comfort in the sea air and sand between my toes. 

 

A sudden movement, a bright green flash, stops me in my tracks, 

The immediate stillness of the previously scurrying creature captures my attention, 

I watch in awe, matching its’ stillness. 

 

Life over the ridge will have to wait, 

I am stuck, captivated by the gem in the dune. 

 

Denise takes us to the Wild West

© North West Coastal Monitoring Programme

In last Monday's workshop, Fiona and Andrew showed us some fascinating images of the dunes from various times and perspectives. We let our imaginations loose on one of these, letting it take us where it wanted to go; we went to space stations, dragon's lairs, and the wild west.  Thanks to Denise for sharing both memory and imagination . . .

An Ariel shot through fresh eyes

When I was writing the next piece  it took me back years when I was a child and watching a TV series ‘Wagon Train’  with my dad I can’t get the theme  tune out of my head:

(Roll along) Wagon Train

Then the Indian Scouts would look down from above, you knew when the rest of the tribe was coming when you saw smoke signals.

You hear the rumble of the horses as they come galloping over the horizon, the scream from the Cheyenne’s when they attack the wagon train.

The wagon train always goes into a circle so that they can defend from all-sides. As if that would stop the Cheyenne’s who would jump over the barricade of Wagons.

Then in the distance you would hear the sound of a bugle from the cavalry as they come to save the day. To the cheer from the cowboys as the Cheyenne’s turn tail and galloped away.

by Denise Melia

 

A poem from Ian

Life On The Beach

Shadows of dogs
Reflections of logs
In the pools on the sand
Shells coloured in bands
Rigs and brine
Twigs and twine
Float over the sea
Their ripples spread closer to me

by Ian Homewood

It was inspiring to listen to Ian read his poem out in the workshop, and hear how it came into being. It started as a list, then rhythm and rhyme emerged. It's a great example of how poetry doesn't come by thinking about it. Let words get onto the paper and see what happens!

Poems from Ken and Natalie

 

At last Monday's workshop we enjoyed meeting the characters in this photo of Ainsdale Beach from the 1950s. We had no idea who the children in the photo are (it's an image from a web page found here) but look how they come to life through the wonderful words below . . . 

Our family outing and granddad on the camera. 

Shouting action instead of smile, chaos breaks out. 

All wanted ice cream and sitting still was not an option. 

Granddad, “I wish they would invent a movie camera for us to use”. 

Mum shouts, “Time for tea” and off we trot, 

A great day out on Ainsdale dunes.

by Ken Lowe

Tumble down the dunes, fastest to the beach

Sand in hair and clothes, between toes

Laughter fills the air, the sea still so far out of reach!

by Natalie

Writing Together

It was wonderful to be part of an evening gathering on Monday 25th January. We may have each been on our own homes, meeting on Zoom, but we were united in our fascination with the dunes and in our wish to be inspired and to get creative. 

The event was part one of a three week course of Gems in the Dunes creative writing workshops. We are gathering together to learn more about the beautiful Sefton Coast from Fiona and Andrew, and to bring the place to life through our imaginations and our words.

The next few posts will be creative contributions generously shared by writers at the workshop . . . (I can't wait to see what week two brings) . . . 

5 November haikus

Secrets lie within

the overlooked and ugly

magic and beauty

             ***

What is imperfect?

whose judgement can be valid

in this shifting world?

             ***

All is lovable

even the dark and broken

when you stop and look

           ***

Sit with the broken

let them open their voices

softly shattering

           ***

Nothing is complete

flowers become pods for seeds

seeds become flowers

Ainsdale 6th November 2020

To the Sand Lizard

 I have never seen you

yet feel your presence

in expectation, in hope

You hide for good reason

And part of me says

stay out of sight, stay safe

 

While another craves

to meet your wild colours

my need for magic

searching the sand

I think you are whispering

through the marram, magic is faith

Letting It Be Where It Lands

I recall the tideline trickling all along the shore. 

The memory of a ripple fading into distance 

in the shape of the sea edge, dried out, stranded. 

Close up, it's another way to read the tide, 

the remains of stories swept up and thrown together,

waiting to make sense.

This confusion of parts has been waiting a long time, 

separated by their names; old bones parted from their boats,

feathers adrift from any flight path, seaweed and shells 

thrown from their element. Broken and beautiful, their voices 

continued to call, saying "look, look". 

When the ink falls onto the page it runs through the water 

and becomes something new, ready 

to be picked up by the eye, the pen. Things are left as they fell

but even seeing is art; a new element gathering the pieces together, 

becoming a new whole within the frame, a new way of being, 

another turn of the endless tide.

Drawing the Tideline

Here is another collision

of what is blown out with what is washed in

The tense grasp at control and the watery slip of giving up

It's like the sea

gathering all that is lost and drifting

and giving us what we yearn for

a second chance 

a fractal big bang creating a fault line 

feathered, fragile, already collapsing

You have to trust the materials

and let them define themselves

it just falls apart when you try too hard

There is a moment when it all seems perfect

like that evening, walking the tideline

It will be different next time you look

Waxcaps Remembered

Joy returns through the lens

a third eye connecting

to grey matter becoming green

and white and red

Senses revive salt winds and slopes

The mind zooms in

and feels the relief of receiving

a gift of inks, willing

to take on the task of remembering

Sticky miracles greet the eye

Joyful, nonsensical

Life as expression, bursts into being

A kind of return

As I have been unable to visit the dunes because of the pandemic guidelines, I have been exploring the landscape in a different way over the last few weeks. Relying on my photographs and memories of my walks there I have created some paintings and some new poems reflecting on the process. In this way I've kept a connection with the  coast and made some new discoveries about my relationship with the place. I'm hoping to return in person soon as I'm longing to feel the wind coming in from the sea and to hear the brushing of the marram . . .

Two Poems

Wreck

It begins as a thin black line

appearing out of nowhere

thickening in the sand

The shore is a trickster

seeming flat

until you join it

piece it together with your perspective

Black shapes rise

out of a deep pool

forming a vessel by being seen

Full of oyster shells and starfish

The boat’s belly

is defined by its ribs

This low tide is an inhale

Just time enough

to make a story from the pieces

It could be a tale of loss and ruin

of storms gouging ships

out of the sea

Or perhaps a parable

to remind us that an ark

is made, not found.

 Ainsdale 14th February

Floods and Thorns

The dunes are flooded, sky-grey       

pools seeping along paths,

gullies overflowing, all the sand

sodden, black stalks damp.

Bodies of buckthorn catch us

on their needle-points but

they are pale and weak, softening

their defences as if their roots

are letting them go. Inside

and out we find our way

between the floods that could

drown us and thorns that protect

so adamantly they hurt.  Yet ease

is near, down in the dark and out

beyond the hectic skies; the calm

strength of a wise world.


Ainsdale 14th February

Returning to the Dunes

I’m happy to say I’m returning to the dunes this Friday. It’s a relief to find a little space during a very busy phase, crammed with work and obligations. I’ve also put some time aside in March so if you too want to take an hour or two to experience the dunes please feel free to join me.  I’ll be setting off at the following times with my notebook, open to what I might discover and how it might be expressed in words.

Friday 14th Feb -  Starting 10am at Ainsdale Discovery Centre

Friday 6th March - Starting 2pm at Birkdale Weld Road car park

December Poetry Walk

On Sunday 15th December, at 2pm, I'll be setting off with my notebook from the Victoria Road car park in Formby. Please let me know if you would like to join me for an informal walk and a chat about writing and poetry, perhaps looking at some ways in to writing if you're feeling stuck . . . In this inspirational landscape, there's no knowing what words might get up to when you let them out . . . 

Oh and be prepared for any weather!

Limits

When the path dissolves into marsh

a trapped nerve and stiff muscles refuse

the usual upward slopes

forcing me to stop. Stand still.

A crow stuck on the wind pulls my attention

into the sky then down to the horizon

cutting off the blue.

I was heading for the sea

as all the flowers are gone, the dunes down

to shades of green, but now I see

what greens! Dappled and striped

by sun and shadows. As I look

tiny vivid stars, lime bright,

open in the spaces, between layers

of emerald and sage grey, some fading

some unfastening. Everywhere is

becoming more of itself in my eyes

Ainsdale 10th November

November poetry walk

I have never explored the dunes in November, but I will be doing just that on Sunday 10th November. Every visit to the Sefton coast has been full of surprises, so until then I can only imagine what I might discover. The same is true of poems. I can set off feeling I don't have a poem in me, until I am reminded that the landscape is full of poems and I just have to stop, take notice, and capture what I can.

If you would like to join me, I'll be starting from the Ainsdale Discovery Centre at 2pm. You might already be interested in writing or looking for ways to kick-start your creativity. There will be no plan, just time spent exploring the tracks through the dunes and some possible paths into poetry. Bring a notebook in case you are inspired and be prepared for whatever weather decides to turn up!

You can email me at hm.skytree@gmail.com to let me know to expect you, or just turn up.

What had seemed so solid

What had seemed so solid falls away

seeds loosen pulled on threads along winds

plump leaves thin and collapse around their spines

flowers dry into tangle-dotting knots

New gifts appear in the spaces

tiny lizards freed from their spirited eggs

bask in low sun, stalks brandish new colours

flagging change across a mutable blue

What we think we know can easily crumble

and suddenly feel as fragile as shells broken

into sand. Yet sand becomes essential

transfigured by the lizards into wintering burrows

6th October 2019

Expression

Springing up

in the salt-whipped grasses

they come as a shock

rain rolling off

their red wax caps

undaunted

they are pressed out

suddenly into light, statements

easily missed

Others rise straight out of sand

strange and surprising yet

blending with the drift

as if any startle hits only

the sleepwalkers unaware

that wonder is normal here

Expected or not

they free themselves anyway

out of the dark, signalling

threaded roots, a mystery

that must unfold

and have its say