Arriving at Whitby

Arriving at Whitby

For hours the land belched sheep,
as we crossed boot-sucking maw until
abruptly the town gusted up our noses

Coming down from high ground,
we caught that whiff of Whitby through
a bitching rain – Nick and Dev and me

A sea town smell so subtle almost dreamt,
before the Abbey uncrouched in our faces,
Hild’s ghost a speck in eyes of empty windows

So delivered by rough uncounted steps,
via walls of curled embedded stony snakes,
we crossed an unseen border into a postcard

Where neither Captain Cook nor Dracula,
came out to smile toothily or wave hellos,
a bleached whalebone arch would have to do

Followed by great big greasy bags of chips,
an old man cursing on a little boat,
a scattering of Goths, pale pub-pilgrims

Bobbing in a crowded flaking bar
where drinkers came and went like tides,
including me, when I had to slip away

Heading for the harbour, past St Mary’s,
down toward a solid block of pier where
I stared but failed to fathom the North Sea.

Once Through A Window

Dull horizons over winter trees
stand silent in rain which doesn’t fall,
cropped grass in a yellow-brown number
is unimpressed by a child on a bicycle,
racing down its back, laughing at lazy gulls
suddenly loosing their wings.

A large crow in a gnarled tree
is unconcerned with drifting balloons,
welcomed by shrieking girls in rooms,
whose wide eyes watch them fade;
a kestrel who shouldn’t be here, buzzes earth,
And the colour of the day remains discontent grey.

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2 thoughts on “Arriving at Whitby

  1. love the first poem better.
    visual and beautiful verses..

    invite you to join poets rally week 40…
    simply visit me for details…all submissions are to be represented by the end of the week.
    Happy Writing.
    Looking forward to seeing you share your talent with us.
    You rock.
    xx

    Like

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