To us, as to him, it has to happen somewhere,
So the proud sea-bird rested his yellow beak
On the lapping shore of a tourist beach,
Legs stretched out by the sand castles
And the garish reclining chairs.
Oceans he knew, high waves foaming
On the storm lashed Atlantic,
Brought low from the nobility of natural flight
To the amusement of sand-throwing children,
Broken and discarded like a beach umbrella.
Who discarded the children? What was the dickie-bird so proud of?
ReplyDeleteAlways a pleasure to have you as a reader!
DeleteI must admit that I liked
Delete"Oceans he knew, high waves foaming
On the storm lashed Atlantic,"
Sounds like ... who? Homer?
I've just realised that the bird was "proud" in the sense of sticking up from the sand. Sorry.
DeleteActually, I must admit I rather liked the whole thing, but I don't want to encourage you too much in case you start devoting your time to trying to wangle grants from the Arts Council.
DeleteBetter James getting the grants than most of the others! Reminds me of "those dolphin torn, those gong tormented seas."
Delete""Oceans he knew, high waves foaming
ReplyDeleteOn the storm lashed Atlantic"
It is also reminiscent of bits and bobs of Dark Ages poetry you see translated from time to time. Though they wouldn't have used "Atlantic".
Come to think of it, Homer was "Dark Ages" too, just a different Dark Age.
ReplyDelete