A couple of days ago, I published a poem that is in fact part one of a three part collection of poems. The Cliff walk Collection is what I have called this series of poetry. I decided to publish all three together now , becase they all fit so well together and read not as one single poem. But instead as One day trip, One view and experience with Three Poems. Each poem has three different styles but each carry a different experience for the reader and myself.
I aim to refresh readers with the First Poem of this collection fiestr then the following two of this trinity of poems. The First Poem is At the Edge of Earth and Ocean , it is composed in AaBb style, with a lot of Poetic dressing, from Alliteration and assonance through to anyhing that I was comfortable adding to my poetry to date.
The Second Poem is The Southern Pulse, It is composed in Free Style and it contains a little piece of poetic styling that has been enough to carry this poem.
The Third and final Poem in this collection is The Wall and the water, This is composed with a mixture or a blend of Aa Bb style and Free Verse that I believe work very well together in this Poem. It also has a few poetic dressing added to carry the Poem a little further and the dressing actually uplift the poem a little more.
Overall I believe each style although very different carry seperate views at one spot, from the same day out and look at things in a way that has me interested and asking Does this work? Because I will answer my own question and say, “most definately Yes”. This is why poetry excites me and has me seeking to learn as much as I couldlearn and add such that I take onboard and am comfortable with onto my poetic style.
Please Enjoy all 3 Poem and let me know what you think:
At the Edge of Earth and Ocean
Soft strokes that strike my upturned face,
And thread through every tangled trace
Of strands that fall or freely fly,
You brush me past, you pass me by.
A golden glow that gathers near,
To chase the chill and make it clear,
A force that bends the blades that lean
Wherever your bright breath has been.
Soft shapes that sail on unseen streams,
With wings that weave through day and dreams,
No hurried haste, no harsh demand,
Just grace that settles on the land.
A rushing roar that races round,
Yet leaves no word, no uttered sound,
It slips past where the senses lean,
But one deep note cuts clear and clean.
From heights where only strong winds climb,
I see the whole wide world in time,
Where ancient spines of stone extend
To where the blue and white contend.
Far down the slope where soft sands sleep,
One burning eye does watch and keep
The line where wild waves wake and weep,
A constant flame, a promise deep.
White fury flies from blackened sides,
Where strength meets force, where pride abides,
Each blow that beats, each burst that breaks,
The very bedrock softly shakes.
It falls away, it flees and flows,
Yet every absence deeper grows,
It pulls away to pull back near,
Until the line has disappeared.
Where blue turns grey and grey turns gold,
And every hue of heaven glows,
No single shade can hold the sight,
For you are all, and all is light.
Where carved in stone, the stories stand,
Of things long passed, of lives once planned,
You guard the grief, you hold the grace,
And give each ghost a holy place.
Through thickest haze and tearing spray,
One steady flame points out the way,
It never bows, it never bends,
Beyond the storms, beyond the ends.
So here I stand where earth meets ocean,
With all you give and all I keep,
No words can weigh, no mind can measure,
You are my life, my love, my treasure.
Copyright © 2026 Pat Fitzgerald
All Rights Reserved
The Southern Pulse
I walk the line where the land ends and you begin.
No cross-breeze here, no wandering air,
but a southerly roar, straight from the deep,
a salt-heavy ghost that has travelled a thousand miles,
just to find me standing here, breathless.
It is the directness of you,
no games, no shelter, just the beautiful,
burning force of your presence striking my chest.
And beneath my boots, the percussion of the tide.
A rhythmic thundering against the shelf,
where the green-black water shatters into white fire,
against the ancient, unyielding stone.
You are the wave that does not ask permission,
The pulse that echoes in the hollows of my heart,
breaking the silence until I am nothing but
the sound of the sea and the heat of the gale.
Copyright © 2026 Pat Fitzgerald
All Rights Reserved
The Wall and the water
The shelter of the stone provides a brief and quiet grace,
A sanctuary built of old, to hide a weary face.
I walk the path where history sleeps beside the private green,
Safe behind the weathered walls where the world remains unseen.
But then the shelter falls away, the path begins to climb,
And I step out to meet a force as old as salt and time.
The South wind catches me,
straight from the throat of the Atlantic,
swirling past the tower like a lover’s whispered urgency.
It doesn’t gust; it arrives.
A solid wall of air that smells of distance and desire,
turning the grey day into a theater of invisible fire.
I hear the heavy rhythm where the foam meets the jagged floor,
The boom of liquid thunder as it breaks upon the shore.
You are the deep-down resonance, the power in the dark,
The wave that leaves upon the rock, its white and jagged mark.
In the wind that comes from nowhere and the water on the stone,
I find a love that claims the cliff and calls me for its own.
Copyright © 2026 Pat Fitzgerald
All Rights Reserved
Thank You for taking time to read these poems, I ask you to please when you can, to let me know what you think of these 3 styles of poetry. Your opinions are most welcome. I have come to like each style, from the structured style of the first poem to the Free Verse of the 2nd and the combined Style of the 3rd.
From the Author:
Thank you for joining me on this journey of writing and discovery. Poetry, for me, is a continuous learning process. A way of finding my own voice and writing style and exploring the beauty of words.
I also write from the heart and never with the intention to cause offence. However, if anything I write ever causes discomfort, please know it is never my purpose. I am only human and occasionally typos or small errors may slip through; I do my best to correct them as soon as they are found.
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Pat Fitzgerald
patman4u.com 