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Tuesday, 17 February 2015

Foundations

Spirited waves
Fearful waves
Flashes of light
Storms on the horizon

All captured
In photographs
Purposeful strides
Sprays to gather meaning

Folded with a roar
Silenced by shutter
Wildness contained
In sepia tones of confusion

To move under
Under the U turn
Under the fallen crest
Under all that ever falls over


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Monday, 16 February 2015

First Light

Quarter to seven
Unable to tell you
The colour of these socks
That almost match my shirt

Summer shades, ideal
For the seaside
Less so for the black
Horizon and brown waves

Ample space here
For a beach hut
To let, or hire
Or take freehold

Early morning greetings
I call them promenader's
Flaneur's, or wistful folk
Who whistle on the prom


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Sunday, 15 February 2015

On Rising Early At Southwold

No gentle lap of wave
Not in this town
Of rebuilt choynes and
Early morning road-sweepers

Hard to pick out one crash
Amongst the relentless onslaught
A sea angered by the southerly winds
A noise as much as any other noise

Easier to dwell on the sunlight
Dancing upon the piers tall pillars
Easier, to think of you, asleep
As I crept out of the bedroom window


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Saturday, 14 February 2015

Symbolic Of

There it goes
Nothing
Absolute zero
Diddley-Squat
We've reached the bottom of the hill
Found the end of the natural curve of statistical decay

There it goes
Kiss
On the seat
Name on the pier
Piss against the wind, towards the dark waves
Found on the end of the nameless progression of horizons


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Friday, 13 February 2015

Still Life

Sat at the picture window
Studying books of Beardsley's art 
& Rembrant's bulbous self portraits

Thought old age led me to forget
Road maps, place names, guides
Or even more meaningful directions

Though all made easier by your laughter
My odd socks chosen not by design
But by dotage, or better still by happenstance


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