On Brighton beach, there is a stone,
long washed clean of blood, a Rocker
threw to brain a fleeing Mod.
There is a buried shard of wood,
from a broken deckchair leg,
once wielded as a club, with stabbing points.
If I had more than a plastic
bucket and spade, I might dig deeper
and find Saxon arrow-heads,
a Roman spear, a Celtic knife,
a Bronze Age axe, a sharpened flint,
an Angel's feather and dinosaur bones.
I build a castle and plant paper flags,
then jump up and down to smash it, when I'm bored.
Comments
Jupiter | June 17, 2009 - 12:12
Ha! Ha! Nice poem although you might have a problem building any sort of decent castle - it's a pebble beach ;-)
WilkyBarKid | June 17, 2009 - 12:20
Maybe it's different now - I haven't been there since I was a kid - but you could dig on the shingly bit when the tide was out.
I could make it Clacton beach and lose the alliteration.
Or Bognor beach - but I don't think the Mods & Rockers fought there.
Bournemouth beach... ? Stop it, now. Stop over-analysing.
Jupiter | June 17, 2009 - 12:23
You may well be right Wilky. Tell you what, I'll remove it from my comment and we can then leave these 2 blank and nobody will be any the wiser if you like? '-)
threeleafshamrock | June 17, 2009 - 12:57
Lol, loved it. You could make it Margate (more mods than rockers there though) Mmmm, the smell of the Vespa, The Who, the Angels; chapters from hell. Oh happy childish memories...ahhh!
Chris ;)
chuck | June 17, 2009 - 13:04
Sarfend saw its share of punch-ups.
lenchenelf | June 17, 2009 - 15:52
Human nature and the rise and fall of civilisation covered quite neatly, all on a sunny afternoon, enjoyed reading atb Lena