Brief Statement: Today, I thought about many things to write about. Some of my posts might not be liked by everyone, and that’s just part of writing a poem. Recently, I shared a poem that was very important to me for various reasons. The truth is, a poem might excite the poet, but it may not grab the attention of others in the same way. Does that make it less valuable as a poem?
Poetry is personal, and what matters most is that the writing meets my artistic goals. Some poems may include a little Irish language (but not too much), which adds to their design. I’ve included a brief Glossary of words to help with understanding. If anything in my writing makes it difficult for you to enjoy, please tell me.
Introduction: I am really excited about today’s poem because it shows how much I’ve grown in my poetry writing journey. I want to ask you: have you ever trusted something, thinking it would always support you? But then, has nature or another situation changed things enough to test that trust? This is what today’s poem is all about, and I’m sure it will help you explore how trust can be broken, in ways that you may not expect from nature.
Note: This piece draws from the shifting coastal dunes found along parts of the West Cork coast; places that seem fixed and familiar, yet are always being remade by wind and tide. What looks unchanging can hold quiet surprises, and what we lean on most reliably may alter shape without warning. Through sand, storm, and shore, this poem reflects on trust, sudden change, and the quiet lesson of coming through unharmed.
Glossary For Today’s Poem
- Cladach = the shore / coast
- Gaoth = wind
- Sound = Irish usage: reliable, steady, trustworthy
- “What in the name of Jaysus / Why the hell / bloody light” – everyday emphasis, natural local speech, expressive but plain
The Shape of Trust
It stood firm as an old handclasp —
marram grass knitting its bones tight,
cladach wind shaping its gentle slope,
holding weight, year in, year out.
No fuss, no shift, no sign of doubt —
as steady as the tide's own route.
Before the storm it bore each step
as it always did: solid, sure, sound.
Then the gaoth rose, wild and raw,
raked sand deep, turned the ground around —
no mark left to show where it changed,
no warning written in the sand.
When calm returned, the path looked the same —
no crack, no hollow, no visible scar.
One step beyond where safety lay,
and the ground gave way like a rotten bar.
Down into soft drift, sudden and light —
only pride dented, nothing worse by far.
Lying still in the scooped-out hollow,
thinking, what in the name of Jaysus...
Held a hundred times before, solid as stone,
so why the hell give way beneath me now?
A quick glance round — only gulls wheeling,
not a soul in sight to see the bow.
Up quick, brushing sand from sleeve and knee,
hurrying off as if nothing went wrong —
Sure I got off bloody light, the thought comes easy,
far better than a tumble sharp and long.
Back to the cottage, fire glowing low,
hands wrapped round tea, warm and strong.
The dune will settle, shift again in time —
that's just the way of sand and sea.
Some things we trust not because they stay,
but because they teach us to see:
what feels like ground beneath our feet
can change, and still leave us free.
Copyright © 2026 Pat Fitzgerald
All Rights Reserved
NOTE:
Thank you for joining me on this writing journey. Poetry is a way for me to learn continuously. It helps me find my voice, writing style, and appreciate the beauty of words.
I write from the heart and never mean to offend anyone. If what I write makes you uncomfortable, please know that it’s not my intention. I am human, and sometimes small mistakes may happen; I try my best to fix them as soon as I can.
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With Gratitude,
Pat Fitzgerald
patman4u.com 