A harsh Northerly breeze enlightens,
purifying my unfortunate mind.
Seagulls dotted here and there
like points on a map you may wish to visit.
This is my small world.
Ships upon the horizon, carrying their poison.
In sight, in mind, out of reach.
Two fortresses stand, as they’ve always stood, in defiance.
Hulking, rusting, tempting me always
the weather is their enemy now.
When people arrive, tranquillity dies,
so I observe them.
Old people with their complaints
their dogs and their memories,
Seated on the benches behind the wave break,
longing to be drowned by the youthful exuberance below.
Brash gaggles of families armed with seaside propaganda
ruin my view.
I’ll come back tonight, and the stars will write for me.
Listen
