M. E. Muir is a Scot now living in London, former teacher and consultant, some of whose work has recently been published in eg Dawntreader,The London Grip, Ink Sweat & Tears, Porridge, and of course Morphrog, with a first collection EX SITU from Dempsey & Windle, which can be viewed at https://www.dempseyandwindle.com/memuir.html
Dive
Dive through the blistered oyster racks
five fathoms deep of blue tubed breath
green samphired water snakes curl
beyond the mussel beds so the thrill
of danger and the scent of salt blasts
out the path of the venomous blue shark
to reach the bounds of what I can not do
where the unknown falls off the edge
into the mitochondria of one infinity
rubbing their faces in the sludge of no-history
get to do un-doable find treasure trove
of sod-you independance as the minke whale
caresses me and the shout of seaweed kelp
and peacock’s tail wrapping around my waist
makes physical the freedom of exactly who I am.
© M. E. Muir
Dogfish
Instead of mackerel on my line
I get a lesser spotted dogfish,
catshark, rockfish,
zoofull of flipping action,
dogs, cats, rock, shark,
whose rough abrasive skin
is sandpaper pumice on mine,
no joy to toast
on the fire I have burning
on my bit of beach
where his mermaid’s purse
is lying abandoned
emptied out of life
as he will be
when I manage
to extract my hook
and collect my regrets
to salt and pepper
my tomorrow.
© M. E. Muir
First foot in sea, hearts open out
grow high and deep and lusted after,
the salt eats off parental guidelines,
habits of dress and language,
makes shouts legitimate;
sea elevates, floats skywards
flying through cumulus,
motors beyond Old Harry rocks
stacked up at Purbeck on the Dorset coast,
and dances happy through a long half term
of first salt hair, first foot in sea.
© M. E. Muir