Plantain & her pals

During our Slippery get together this afternoon Stephen let me read the beginning of a poem he is writing. It reminded of the following poem written by Kerri when she was on the island of Orkney.

Plantain & her pals

Fuck, your tough.
You endure.
You’re no martyr.
You’re just there.
Living.

You and all these other creatures:
strong, stubby, stumpy, scraggily
and gloriously beautiful in your force.
You put me in mind of …

Is it women?
Folk living in poverty?
Mums, bringing up four kids,
totally skint,
no time for herself because she’s
mum, sister, daughter, carer, cleaner,
agony aunt and all the rest?
or men too?
But, there’s usually some woman for a man to lean back against,
So, women really.

And you smell and taste so sweet,
strong.
Fuck, yer no shy!
You’re tasty.

And it all hides behind your sturdy, chubby
wee hairy leaves.
Poking out the ground whenever you can.
Same with your heather neighbours.
Living right on the cliff edge,
on cavernous rocks broken off the coast.
Crashing, crushing waves smash against you.
Glorious.

That shine of life,
the gleam, glow,
everpresent.
Not making a song and dance of yourself,
your endurance.
Ability.
Just being.
Overlooked.

Heather creates a beautiful purple hue across
this picture – postcard Bonnie Scotland.
But it was that Sea Plantain that just blew my mind yesterday.

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