Lydia Fulleylove


isle of wight beach
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poet & writer




The Boy in the Icehouse

Poems & extracts from Estuary
Two Ravens Press, October 2014

9 February

In the Winter Barn

At 81, Malcolm climbed the oak tree

30 December

By the broken jetty

seaweed on pebbles

Poems & extracts from
Estuary - Two Ravens Press, October 2014

30 December

This is the place, through the tangle of brambles at the edge of Causeway Field, to a straggle of twisted oaks by the river bank. I sit on my backpack above the leafy, acorn-cracking mud. In spite of the wind chill beyond, here I am warm for the first time this morning. I sip green earl grey tea. I bite into a reed. It is crisp and full of air. I have never looked into reeds with binoculars before. The further down you go, the more criss-cross and complicated they get, though sometimes frail and fallen. Voices buzz in from across the river, a restless persistent woman's voice. I could do without voices. I hitch my back pack onto my shoulder and work my way out, round the field, past the single oak, over a fence, under a fence, across the thin creek, over dry crackling wrack and brackish mud, to look for that other reed place further down-river. I find a different path this time, one that takes me in deeper, through reeds which wrap and unwrap around me. Looking back the way I have come is like peering into a dream on waking.

Lydia Fulleylove