PORTH LYSKI BAY

There is a place where no one goes, it is an insignificant area,

it is easy not to notice it, and even easier not to be there,

It is a place of fragile shells and indomitable rocks,

A place of mysterious beauty, of children, of birds

and flying insects, You will have to be small to get in.

There is a foot path that makes its way there, but it cannot be seen until it is walked,

There are no guides, no signposts, you will not know the way, it is not even named on the map.

You will read no reports about it, and it will never make the news.

It strives to make the stop-press, but no one hears it knock.

It is an oddity, a crevice, a 'will-O'-the-wisp;

when you get there it will steal you away,

It will kidnap you, but you will still not know its there,

You will feel like you are being watched, but when you turn there will be nothing there.

You will run and hide from it, but it will not chase you;

It will not find you, it will bide its time;

in a state of eternal foresight.

It cannot be moved, it has existed and had its way with you,

but you didn't even notice it walk right by...

Its touch has been invalidated, like a passing vagabond,

or a powerless tramp.

It has no gold or silver. It never speaks, it needs no opinions;

When you get to it you will feel like a ghost

wandering into a séance.

From above it appears to be nothing special

in fact it's a very small affair.

This is a bay of stillness, of impenetrable beauty,

an unseen field of splendour,

where the esoteric and the abstruse form an alliance

with clarity and illumination;

It is a place of mindfulness and enchantment,

Tangibly supernatural, it touches you like its part of you,

but as I said, it's a very small occurrence;

From above it is a mere speck of dust;

Small sands are a sanctuary from the sound

Grasshoppers click and jump from grass to heather,

Dragonflies and red admirals make the traffic

Seagulls chatter across the air,

Seals swim around their ports;

Wild white horses make a chapel.

The smell of salt seems to fill all your senses,

The freshness of the air bursts you with energy;

But as I said, it is only a little thing.

No one knows if this is a place of view,

A scenery to look upon, or a place of mind,

A perception to dwell with,

but it is a colossal event,

A pack of particles communicating and combining.

making you feel as if this bay,

this beach thinks in some deep way.

And those flecks of light in the sky at the time of darkness

take millions of years to get here.

On Porth Lyski bay I can link everything with everywhere

But as I said, it is a very small episode.

Hardly worth a mention.

It is an adventure and that is all.

And most people walk right by it,

Scarcely aware of even the grasshoppers.