A stroll on the pier in the pouring rain, not her best idea.
You can see Sizewell ‘B’ on a good day, she’d said.
I’d said, in that case, I was glad it was a bad one.
Her umbrella – free with ‘She’ magazine,
turns inside out. Another madcap idea
at the end of a pier when it’s blowing a gale.
We stand by the rail with its shiny brass plaques
in memory of loved ones, and contemplate our own
mortality; the sea, the sky. On a day like today,
they seem very much the same; grey on grey.
Were those tears on her cheek, or was it the rain? No,
she tells me. Merely an inscription she’d just read.
“The sound of the sea – yours for ever.”
Downbeat tacky anoraks trudge by; shaped by the drab
of the humdrum grind. I squeeze her hand.
We visit the lifeboat museum, lined with black
and white photos of black and white tides and times.
Everyone’s dream, to be saved from whichever ocean.
Myself, I loathe towns and cities; too static. Compared
with flux and reflux, the swish and the swash of the sea.
“We’d best be heading back. It’s getting late.
Fancy dropping anchor at Sole Bay?” Just as if
she read my mind. I could murder an Adnams.
That was the best idea she’d had. Beats a stroll
on the pier in the pouring rain … any old day.
Sole Bay Inn, with a lighthouse in its back yard –
beacon burning bright. Beckoning … beckoning.
Comments
jennifer | March 17, 2009 - 13:02
The rhythm in these lines is just superb:
'Downbeat tacky anoraks trudge by; shaped by the drab
of the humdrum grind.'
as is the whole poem, so wonderfully evoked!
J x
threeleafshamrock | March 17, 2009 - 13:42
What a beautifully crafted piece. Expressed so vividly that I felt I was there on the pier. Is the inscription real? “The sound of the sea – yours for ever.” It's SO perfect and the rest of the piece written around it shares its perfection. Lovely!
Chris XX
Silver Spun Sand | March 17, 2009 - 14:30
I thank you for your comments, Jennifer:-) A special poem, for me, as you can imagine.
T x
Silver Spun Sand | March 17, 2009 - 14:39
Again, thank you, Chris.
Yes, this inscription is real, about halfway along Southwold pier.
My daughter loved Southwold and went as often as she could. It was from there, she wished to embark on her final journey.
She had many friends to see her off - including a couple of Chinese tourists, bless them, who mistakenly thought it was a poetry group who had gathered to read their poems at the end of the
pier:-)
Tina xxx
jennifer | March 17, 2009 - 17:39
I hope there is a similar note of humour at my send-off. What an awesome way to go.
I must visit, it sounds like a magical place!
J x
Silver Spun Sand | March 17, 2009 - 18:25
Do visit it one day, if you get the chance, Jennifer. And don't forget to visit Sole Bay Inn. I think the Southwold lighthouse is probably unique, in that it nestles in the middle of cottages. Quite something.
Also, if you like good ale, do visit the Admiral Nelson, which is right in the centre of Southwold. Adnams, brewers of remarkable ales, have their brewery adjacent to the pub. It has a visitor's centre and one can spend an interesting afternoon there, rounded off by popping into the Nelson for a swift half ... or two, to sample their product:-)
Tx
jennifer | March 17, 2009 - 18:57
Sounds just wonderful, roll on summer! I shall have to venture there for the sea, the lighthouse AND the ale!
J x
Nathan Bednarek | March 18, 2009 - 15:22
Brilliant, captivating and spellbinding. I love this poem. It takes you on a journey.
The poem has a charm of its own.
I love the alliteration in the last line.
Great work and a well deserved cherry, well done.
Nathan.
MistakenMagic | March 18, 2009 - 19:22
Very atmospheric Tina! I feel like I'm there right now with the sea's spray in my face :) A beautiful, beautiful poem.
Magic xxxx
Dynamaso | March 19, 2009 - 01:09
This is wonderfully evocative and rythmic piece and a pleasure to read. I particularly like the third stanza. Thanks for sharing.
a.jay | March 19, 2009 - 07:59
goodness me, thankyou so much Tina, you sent me spinning back to the early eighties when me and a bunch of feckless musicians took a winter let on a house one row behind and three doors down from the lighthouse - it pulsed through my bedroom window rocking me to sleep for six wonderful months. I've only been back once since moving on but we did drink ale at the sole - that said the snug behind the crown was my favourite watering hole whilst living there. I can still taste the pear drop hops of the abbots (we were young and skint - strong beer was better value!!)
the whole coastline of that area is so romantically elemental - so suitable to the angsty twenty year old i was, pacing up and down the beach, wind howling, waves crashing singing my little heart out!!
Thankyou thankyou, tho later today i might not be so happy, couldn't turn it off, still buzzing at 3 this morning!!!
great poem.
bises, ax
Silver Spun Sand | March 19, 2009 - 16:31
What wonderful memories these are and I am so glad that my poem brought these days back to you. And thanks for sharing:-) Those were the days, eh ... my friend? As Mary Hopkins would have said, but I guess you don't remember her. Late sixties early seventies, I believe.
Tina xx
Silver Spun Sand | March 19, 2009 - 16:31
It was my pleasure, Dynamaso ... and thank you for your kind words.
Tina
Silver Spun Sand | March 19, 2009 - 16:33
I know what you mean about the sea, Magic. Where I live, we are so far from it, so I don't get there as often as I'd like.
Glad you enjoyed it.
Tina xxx
Silver Spun Sand | March 19, 2009 - 16:35
I am glad you enjoyed your 'journey' Nathan and appreciate your words. Thank you.
Tina x