Whale lamps
When the lamps go on in Whitby
the light comes from whales.
There’s an echo of the tide
in the lamps hiss
and the faintest scent so faint
that you could almost miss
the trace of blown-breath
iron and salt
Whale Bones
Women walk
like wading birds
their stiffened bodies
narrowed at the waist
compressed
breathlessly embraced
by what’s left of whales
Published by colinhopkirk
Poet, writer, artist. Writing and performing in England, publishing anywhere. Member of Hexameter performing poets. Workshops, projects, cross-arts collaborations.
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Colin Hopkirk Poetry 