Dealing, as it does, with the awful business of suicide, I did not want a cosy rhyme scheme for this poem; neither did I want the liberation of free verse, because the suicide is not a liberated person but one held prisoner by personal horrors. This minimalistic approach to rhyme therefore, is a form of my own devising. There are only two repeated words that could be said to rhyme (all/gull) and both are approximations.

Not being a mason I cannot be sure but I understand that on joining they take an oath that should they divulge the secrets of the brotherhood their tongues should be torn out by the roots and buried in the no man's land between high and low water marks, impossible of course on a cliff top!

About as different a coast from the marshlands as you can get are the rugged cliffs that tower straight up out of the sea. There are a few cliffs in Norfolk but they are nothing compared with those on the north coast of the Lleyn peninsular in North Wales.

The most impressive cliffs for me are the very high, vertical ones where there is no beach, no landing place at the base and where the sea pounds against an impenetrable wall of rock. It is at the top of one of those that I am standing, as near the edge as I dare, fighting off the vertigo that threatens to overwhelm me.

You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.