LIMPETS AT PORT QUIN... (My poem about a visit to Port Quin, Cornwall...)

 Limpets At Port Quin…

A gaping hole

Gouged

From a grey, sinister cliff,

Like a glaring opening

Gored 

From a sore, toothless gum.

Sinewy boulders

Glistened,

Guarding a tumbled cave,

Bone slivers

Drilled,

Dripping, bloodless, numb…

A group of limpets,

Beached

From a spiteful, clawing tide,

Like a Cheyenne camp

Isolated

From the white-man’s advance.

Conical shells

Stranded,

Storing jellied flesh,

Skin tepees 

Huddled,

Hiding indigenous romance…

Pete Ray...

 

The groups of limpets inside a Port Quin cave 

reminded me of American Native Indian 

wigwams…