For Jac.


It’s hard now: it’s colder, and I know it is.

You’ll sit at the quay and compare the sea and sky

And find no horizon to colour which from which,

Nor a single shade of grey to choose between them.

I wish I could join you for a while, beside the seafront.


If I could sit by that bench, it would be

Not so bad. We’d mock the seagulls. We’d throw

Armfuls of laughter at them, into the sea,

Across the expanse of the open quietness

Like leftover chips, cast wide, licked with salt.


We’d catch glances of each other, the way

A stray chance of sun dazzles off the water,

As the friendly day we wasted chased itself

Right down to the edge of the pier,

Threw itself into the sea, laughingly.


You can probably feel the emptiness sat next to you.

I get that. And I know this almost-peace

Is yours, for now. We’re only a little way

Down the waterfront, you know, idling to ourselves:

Waiting for you to leave the bench, and join us.





One thought on “Waterborne

  1. I so like this. I have read this aloud several times and the simplicity and Universality I find in it gives me different experiencesach time I read. And I like the voice of the poem. And I like my voice when I read it aloud. I wish I were in the poem right now.

    A huge cypress came down in the wind and fell not on the conservatory which it could have done or across the road which would have been inconvenient and possibly dangerous, but along the hedge where the springy branches like bouncy arms branched over the hedge like a tunnel. So the hedge survived, and yesterday my good neighbour Rik came along with his chain saw and cut it into manoeuvrable sections. The lawn looks like a wood yard.

    Thank you for the poems, love from us both, Gran

    Sent from my iPad

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