In my eyes is reflected
The cold grey expanse of the sea
The endless wastes of bristling foam
Beneath skies that are cruel and empty.
These are the eyes of one who has seen
Nothing except this grave of dreams –
I was raised by the sea, it was mother and wife,
It made just one demand – that I gave it my life.
It occasionally happens that a poem comes into my head with such a strong ‘voice’ attached that I feel I have to share it – in this case, an old man in a yellow sou’wester, with a thick grey beard and a regional accent I can’t place. It probably wasn’t from where I was at the time of writing, Berick-on-Tweed.
The Hapless Neo-Romantic