A Coastal Climax

We are together in this landscape picture.
An image where land encounters sea,
echoing St Ives and Peter Lanyon.
Not great, I agree

Ever blows the wind up the scree

In the patchwork of expressive brushmarks,
of black, Naples yellow and Hooker’s green,
we are two figures, discernable
to those who dream

Ever blows the wind up the scree

Well, I see us cruising a cliff-top paradise,
outlined by stripes of ancient geography.
An image gleaned from someplace
we met anonymously

Ever blows the wind up the scree 

In this framed expanse of painterly forms,
are we hot weekenders seeking bliss?
Waves erode exclusive cliffs.
How far can you see?

Ever blows the wind up the scree 

No, we are the land and his intimate parts,
two figures rolling over in a heavy sea,
backwashing at high tide.
This intimacy

Ever blows the wind up the scree

As I gaze at the canvas from new positions
The whitewater returns a dazzling scene.
Then into turquoise impasto,
churning cream

Ever blows the wind up the scree

We’re blowing foam on a swollen headland.
Within the landscape of my wild dream,
What can we say to the painter?
We like it rough


Paint me in my fantasy