Lost sole / soul survivor

Sole survivor Achill Island 2010

Years trodding the boards
out of Murmansk and the North Sea,
dipping a Toe in the ice fraught oceans
I even got to kick against the emerald chill
of iceberg slopes
now my after life, is here in Achill sound. beached, dryblown
with whale husk and filligrees of netting,

a few baldy dayglow bouys that bobbed out of Liverpool or Swansea,

out there it's seagull screech and a thrum of wave on keel,

my best years had me worn out, shuffling redlight streets in New Amsterdam,

or Hong Kong, I was made for those loafing harbours,

their fish and chips fumes, tar and oil murk,
oh the ardent cigarette buts I scuffed!

Here its wind keening in the shells and sheep skulls 
rain blown famine villages,
ghostly stepping stones for a pier.