Two Tree Island :: Bleak, Hoarse

Two Tree Island is a small island lying north-east of Canvey Island and south-west of Leigh-on-Sea in Essex, England. It covers 257 hectares (640 acres) and is connected to the mainland at Leigh by a bridge.

The island was reclaimed from the Thames Estuary in the 18th century and used as pasture until 1910 when a sewage works was built on it. From 1936, the entire island was used as a landfill site; this was later reduced to a single small site on the island in 1974. It is now a nature reserve, run by Essex Wildlife Trust, and the eastern half is part of the Leigh National Nature Reserve.

From Wikipedia

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Two Tree Island’s an odd place: not quite the sea, not interesting enough to be land. It doesn’t help this place was a landfill site for decades, but now you’ll only find dog walkers and aircraft enthusiasts amongst the birds and occasional skateboarder. It is a great metaphor for the borough, however: if all you do is take visuals as a guide, so much depth and detail of any place is lost.

This was the first piece to be both written and place photographed; with these words a number of important personal challenges were surmounted. It’s been a long journey as a writer to get here, beginning a new chapter in both life and ability. These words reflect not only evolution, but a distinct line drawn in Essex silt: this is where I begin and end.

I am words written, feelings expressed, without fear.


Bleak, Hoarse

Golden hour,
I came here to begin
next chapter’s transformation

remade through other’s imagery,
inspired
earth to sky,
brown
to gold
adheres, presenting unexpectedly

grubby printed brilliance, webbed feet
pointing path, open silt bar
my usual; steaming,
anticipated
epiphany of
self abstained, regained.

I asked for a sign;
you gave
graffiti covered
rubberised playgrounds
broken boats
peeling
saint’s
names

Pier’s glorious insertion, failures forgotten
thousand harsh rejections sail away
masts of possibility remain,
renewed
mirrored sunrise
into grateful eyes.

Bleak, hoarse failure recedes
to seeds,
green runway, as above, first plane

softens

mumbling to trains.