I found it on the high tide line
after a night of fire
the grand old lady of the sea
destroyed by spite and ire
Never proved but always known
her final hours presumed
the work of arsonists with flame
the pier now lost, consumed
Towering like a monolith
up into the sky
Brighton’s i-360
is really, really high
Dwarfing the remains
of the ruinous West Pier
it stands alone just waiting
for the summer to appear
I think it was Bizet the zebra was playing
in Brighton today in the sun
Nocturne in D Major if I’m not mistaken
Yes, I think that piece was the one
It was somehow fitting for the time and the place
a tranquil and quiet melody
Brought an air of contentment to those wandering by
In Brighton, so close to the sea
Seagull silhouetted on the canvas roof
as we sat with cup of tea
in January sunshine there with Sal
and Holly, Grace, Wolfgang and me
He made a happy picture there
synonymous, replete
so I quickly took a picture
making this fine day complete
Cathartic this wide expanse of beach
tide low under deep blue sky
just the tonic that I needed
as I wandered slowly by
Splashed winter boots in cold water
found a bright red shell
dragged my toe through the wet sand
with words I'll never tell
This Red Leicester cheese
is completely divine
but this is not yours
for it's wholly mine
But if you're near Co-Op
go get some today
'cos your mouth will thank me
in every which way
Indigo the darkness clings
though morning apparent is here
Silence exudes its hushed secrets
to a winter daybreak
Movement scant to a waking world
I am discouraged in this warmth
and yet a best foot forward beckons
a step into fading black
as the light spreads from the East
In October red I paused beneath
its lofty heights in wonder
at the absolute magnificence
of this redwood tree asunder
So imagine my dismay today
to find that storms with thunder
and a lightning strike reduced it
to a stump and piles of lumber
Yes, there's like still there but
its pride is lost for good
a sad, contrite reminder
of a once proud tall redwood
An angel perched close by our side
in the branches of a tree
as there we sat beside the lake
with flapjacks and cup of tea
He tweeted sweet a little song
reminding us in case
we needed that, though it was clear
by his exuded grace
He stayed there just a little while
before fluttering away
an angel on his angel rounds
on this fine winter's day
This twenty rod* plot, our 'erf', our realm
our saving grace, our haven
is such to bring a 'joie de vivre'
and oft a cause for 'pavan'*
As though each year we toil for long
to dig and plant and sow
the reward of produce that it brings
gives reason more to grow
Forlorn now this iron leads to nowhere
save to a shortsighted whim
synonymous to abandoned towns
where Beeching's blunder echos still
Yet testament still here they lie
as memory fades with brittle truth reminder
tracking to long lost connections
and a politician's gain
Framed by aging iron posts
the ancient steps behind
the padlocked gate lead nowhere
(least no place I could find)
Mysterious the setting
with the undergrowth and tree
left me puzzled and a-wondering
at what it all could mean
We coddiwompled in the mud
up at Barcombe Mills
all eight of us together
amidst the Sussex hills
The rain held off but underfoot
the mud was thick and wet
but we all had the best of times
so never cause to fret
So to thirty first December and
the last day of the year
Twenty two has been and gone
as twenty three appears
There have been many moments
with emotions running rife
as is the wont of passing time
this c'est la vie, this life
But there are still remaining hours
to finish it for good
so on this New Years' Eve we will
enjoy it as we should
Almost iridescent brightness to squint
with eyes skewed to the sun behind
where spiky winter teasels cold
stand proud against a low zenith
of a winter sky
Went to the Tap, the weather was raw
but it wasn't the sleet or the snow that I saw
but rather the fair Newcastle town trade
that good conversation with a pint that was made
and convivial warmth with the victuals there
made the winter outside something better to bare
So I stayed for a while and chatted some more
before heading back out to what lay in store
Concluding ‘The of…’ series from Jemverse 2022 (12 of 12)
Cathartic the writing
the pen to the page
Words from the poet
the seer and sage
To capture life’s moments
like a photograph here
And bring to the reader
a little more cheer
[Of writers and readers was first posted in three parts over three consecutive days in October 2018. Parts II and III are here and here.]
Over the years I have titled several poems with the preposition ‘of’ – so this last Jemverse mini-series of 2022 pulls some of those back together again
We have a window
to look to the world
and watch every day
as life is unfurled
For me it’s a garden
as nature’s fair hand
paints changing pictures
of my bit of land
Winter clung fast
to April’s last day
with rain and strong winds
to greet first of May
Yet there is still time
for the sunshine to come
with promise of summer
born of the sun
The promise over our house today
in the sky right after the rain
gave us both a feeling of joy
when it with its radiance came
The colour was vivid, the arc of it wide
and though brevity saw its demise
its purpose was clear, one of promise and hope
beneath it revealed to the wise
Of an evening spent down by the sea
with waves lapping there quietly
I’ll let the silence encapsulate me
At the end of a wonderful day
Of an evening with the sky painted pink
as my toes in the sand slowly sink
I have time to ponder and think
At the end of a wonderful day
Throughout the year the seagulls
as seasons come and go
are always out there for me
be it sunshine, rain or snow
In the winter and the autumn
In the Springtime when it’s green
In the summer when it’s nice and warm
There are seagulls I’ll have seen
Always out there flying
or swooping ‘cross the sea
I’m so glad I have the seagulls
as they’re part of life for me
I watched the shilling spinning
it was mine in no small measure
Enough to buy two Matchbox cars
to hold and keep and treasure
The fingers twisted blithely
as they caught and spun again
but I saw no abandon
found no one there to blame
Sailing east from a sunset as rich as could be
We continued our cruise here in North Italy
Venice passed golden and we waved a goodbye
as a moment we shared with a tear in the eye
As this was with no doubt a diamond day
spent here in Venice in every way
The sheep were in the upper field
I could see them on the hill
meandering whilst grazing
whilst winter grips us still
and though there is a part of me
with wanderlust that yearns
to tread those hills and join them
another part adjourns
And to these days when all I hold
is flecked with rust or painted gold
I know which of these I prefer
So to the gold I will defer
The rust it takes a second place
Resting with its fall from grace
Yet not forgotten all these things
as each have given cause to sing