Sunday, 15 March 2015


The Cross and the Chief…

His headdress trails
Behind uplifted head
And a rugged, craggy face:
A Sioux warrior Chief…
He pleads with Spirits,
In pallid skies,
With glazed, piercing eyes,
In utter, complete belief.
But there is no trace,
Nor promise of deep red
In this day’s entrails…

He scrawls a cross
Upon the smeared dusk
Of crimson, to claret hue,
This native American Chief…
A pledge to Spirits
Upon sunset’s glare,
With crazed, flaming stare
Of sheer, evident relief:
And there is such grace
From this sculpted husk
Of a culture lost…

Pete Ray
March 2015…

Mawgan Porth’s cliffs harboured what looked like the head and headdress of a Sioux Chief, looking to the sky.
Later that evening a curious cross, possibly made by the Chief’s spear, appeared like a signature across the flaming north Cornwall sunset...

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