Week 2. Lockdownunlockblog. 13/06/2020

JOLIE BRISE SAILS ON 1 Image: THE JOLIE BRISE SAILS ON. One of a triptych, Acrylic on Canvas 2015. 6 x 4 Ft. Public Collection, Teignmouth, Devon.

This poem was written in 2015 and describes an early evening walk in Teignmouth one wet Thursday. So much has changed of course but as we slowly unlock and get something approaching normality, perhaps the sights and sounds described will return, as well,unfortunately,as the rain.

SO IT WAS.

After walking on the promenade in Teignmouth

By the cubic skeleton theatre

Just down from the hold my hand pier

Where seagulls contemplate the swoop for chips

Eaten on cast iron ended benches

Overlooking brave-heart wetsuit-less swimmers

Who retreat to towels in Volvos

With dry clear skies now,

Even by the unfinished Weatherspoon

Just wheels away from taxi only parking

A high perched metal ship

Rides proud on its still wet housing

After rain had tried its dampest

To last the long day out.

 

So it was we knew it was today not Wednesday

When the sun was never-ending,

Thursday looked all lost and landlocked

Bleak with impending disaster

Threatening to drown pedestrian precincts,

Wash clean dog-dirt pavements;

So it was as we suspected

That the world looked so much better

In the evening calm.

 

After an unplanned boardwalk U turn

On the squalid back beach sand

By two splashing urchin brothers

By the hairy dog sat saintly

By the tea-shirt wind tanned talkers

Holding bottled beer and parties

Clustering by beach hut hideaways

A short walk from the toy-town lighthouse

Where captain Pugwash chewed, me hearties,

On plastic fish filled breaded fingers

Near the street with poorly hand drawn

A frame menus, B & B vacancy signs

In lonely landlady unwashed windows

By the crowds in pint glass alley

Drinking views of distant headlands

Where the houses, perched like puffins

On the green tree cliffs

Looking down their affluent noses

On so many masts and dingies

Row boats, sunken wrecks and moorings

Noisy family pizza eaters

Sat on low Sloop weathered benches

And lowly pretend harbour walls.

 

So it was we knew it was today not Wednesday

When we were all lost and troubled;

So it was as we suspected

That the world looked so much better

In the evening calm.

 

 

 

 

 

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