In Summertime, In Britain

Grey jumpers lost on beaches
Over painted railings
Hung out to dry,
Torn by the gulls of Copenhagen
And the rocks of Nazareth.

Pink sand ripples
Neatly lined and orderly
Until the sound of laughing children arrives
Building castles in wet sand
On horizons littered with cargo ships,
Rusted hulks
And other junk.

Ancient stations finger the scene
With iron chains
Redundant.
White mist, white light, white heat;
Over lazy sunbathers
Scarlet ribbons the little green eyes
Fixed on the first star out;
Venus pierces a lovely hole
Above open sunroof splendour
Where we all lay
Close to love,
Wrapped in moods born of
Breaking beige waves,
Our tides the
Forever nameless.

Coarse language
Set on granite plates
And tea room stitching,
Our dreams the diving sea birds
And the melody of
Stacking saucers
And ratchets,
Sugared patterns
In cracked floral bowls.

On seaside strolls
That woven British woe,
Sea-breeze troubles the mind
And the head of ale,
Ice creams melt in unison
And sticky fingers need licking.

Sand dunes reach below wild branches,
Stonewall meadows of geometric patch,
Stands brave scarecrow pecked by a lark,
Flightless
Melancholy rests with the
Lying horses.

The land of green and plenty
Crowded,
Empty hearted
Chip shop stagger
Knows no depth of grey,
No amount of relish can disguise
That dirty oil.

Car parks lined and filled
With twinkling jewels of decay,
Little birds are panicked
Flying in all directions,
Stuffed pigeons mark the skies
With dreamed up diseases,
As plain white doves
Shield the old apple trees
And handkerchiefs are opened
Near the rainbow frames
For climbing,
As a child lies bleeding from the knee
And the air is filled with sirens.

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7 Responses so far »

  1. 1

    The Britain I remember!

  2. 3

    woosha8 said,

    Absolutely wonderful – I love it!

  3. 5

    Lovely poem, ….but that french fry man is going to give me nightmares.

  4. 7

    woosha8 said,

    So true !! 🙂


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