Poem: Tintagel



It is your place of myths,
a place of kings and wizards,
love and fairytales,
a dark place, full of secrets,
of desires betrayed and dark caverns
and high tides and cliffs high above the sea.

It is here, as much as anywhere,
that you learned
you would never be content to stay in place,
that no matter where you lie
you will be thinking about what lies

And no matter how the town above the cliffs
whores itself like any seaside town
full of trinkets and silly reminders of kings long past,
your eyes will be turned to the crumbling walls
and the restless grey waters of the Irish Sea,
calling your name like a lover
and just as irresistible.

About this poem

Tintagel, a town on the western coast of England, is the mythic birthplace of King Arthur. I’ve had the joy of going there twice, and hope I get to go again while I am still spry enough to climb the cliffs and walls of the ancient, 9th-century castle that overlooks the sea.

Next to Venice, it is one of my favorite places on earth.



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