...can be found over on Malcolm Redfellow's site (with a tip of the cap to Slugger).

Here, a third, is my favourite:

Shipping Forecast

The Fisherman and His Wife in Donegal

They have shared still late October,

but salt stones and a broken tree,

the peeled paint on the lifeboat house

chime with places where the glass falls,

prime sources encountering night’s bald predictions.

Everywhere winter edges in,

and now the time is ten to six...

Lightness and weight, air’s potentials

pressed into words, implication;

here – on all coasts – listening grows passionately tense.

Fair Isle, Faeroes, South East Iceland,

North Utsire, South Utsire,

Fisher, German Bight, Tyne, Dogger... This pattern of names on the sea –

Weather’s unlistening geography – paves water.

Beyond the music, the singing

of sounds – this minimal chanting,

this ritual pared to the bone

becomes the cold poetry of information.

The litany edges closer –

Lundy, Fastnet and Irish Sea...

Routine enough, all just routine,

Always his eyes guessing beyond

the headland, she perhaps sleeping, no words spoken.

He stretches forward to grasp it,

claims his radio place – and now

the weather reports from coastal stations and then: Malin Head – such routine

that she barely glances up, but hears now falling.

By Sean Street.

Update: Malcolm gives the poem some thoughtful consideration here.