Cries from solitary seagull
break the still Autumn air,
maybe it calls to the
lovers,
the losers, the ghosts
who speckle the seafront,
maybe to no-one,
as nobody echoes its call.
Drifting creature - falling
in circles ever-decreasing,
white wings silhouetted
against a mackerel sky -
lost to instinct in need
of any warm nest
on this cold November 'noon.
It drifts inside greying shroud
of the pier's half-light,
as day trades blows with night ,
desperate flicker of lights,
flash and urge fractured souls
from slate sea to safe shore.
Lovers, losers and ghosts now hidden
in street lamp shadows ,
which grow taller,as night creeps.
Some days the sun ignores
this corner of England,
where no-one hears the silence
when the bells of loneliness peel.
A clip of me reading the poem: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T1oAfcZqqv0
the losers, the ghosts
who speckle the seafront,
maybe to no-one,
as nobody echoes its call.
Drifting creature - falling
in circles ever-decreasing,
white wings silhouetted
against a mackerel sky -
lost to instinct in need
of any warm nest
on this cold November 'noon.
It drifts inside greying shroud
of the pier's half-light,
as day trades blows with night ,
desperate flicker of lights,
flash and urge fractured souls
from slate sea to safe shore.
Lovers, losers and ghosts now hidden
in street lamp shadows ,
which grow taller,as night creeps.
Some days the sun ignores
this corner of England,
where no-one hears the silence
when the bells of loneliness peel.
 |
| Brighton Pier 18-11-2013 |
My reading via youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T1oAfcZqqv0
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