As I stagger up this sandy beech
A sharp winter wind cuts
Clean through my scarf
Daft rainbow coloured bobble hat
And last Christmas gloves
A line of brightly painted huts
Stands padlocked until spring
Along the path in bunches
Engraved with words remembering lost loves
Empty cheap wooden benches
Contemplate the waves
And wonder if they were ever true or brave
Dog walkers are out
They shout loud
To be heard above the crashing sea
And there’s little old me
Plodding on
Composing poetry
Today is November the twentieth twenty-twenty-five
And I am grateful I think and therefore I am
Grateful to be alive
And when I turn round and look back along the shore
I spy the lighthouse
Right at the end of Margate’s harbour arm
Warning boats away from rocks and harm at night
Its artificial light
Thrown out into the North Atlantic waves
Fire stolen from the Gods by slaves rebellious and poor
Thirsty for freedom
Greedy to taste more
Than this
Willing to have eagles feed upon their guts
If that’s the price that must be paid
Reminder of all they stand to lose
Of discoveries possible but not yet made
And least they forget
Reminder of the
Stunning silence that blooms into emptiness when the sentence ends
Its illumination is not needed yet
On this cold morning
The sun is shining
On a scene of screeching gulls
And passing cars
And barking dogs
And red-faced children learning how to walk and talk
And benches mourning those no longer living
And waves that hiss and sigh and disappear
Anything could happen here
And you can bet it will
There will be murders in the dark
There will be raptures
There will be bliss
Strangers will meet and fall in love and kiss
There will be horrors and delights
And flights and fights and ‘rites of passage’
On this ‘journey into the unknown’
And there will be
Hackneyed phrases that lose all meaning through over use
Become again mere sounds
Or mere marks upon a page
‘Coming of age’
That ‘dying fall’
The swish and wish and round and round
The haha blah blah of it all
Until every singly uttered thing will fade away
At curtain close
Creating an uncertain pause
And questions in the dark
‘Is it over now?’
‘Will there be applause?’
‘Will we get to play again?’
‘Will a new day dawn again?’
And we will need the lighthouse then
Yes To All Of It 