One exit
No stations south,
No further southern counties,
On High white shelves,
Worn Out in Flats,
From Clean White Collapses.
I passed here years ago.
'In a world of wind and cloud',
These massive stairs,
The only exit.
Fields end spliced,
Like torn adverts.
The rhyming unheard of
Above the sea's seathing.
Edges slip uniformly,
Independent of clouds.
The White Bird passes.
The Isle of Wight then:
In miniature,
Overlooks the Mainland's
New edge.
On Solent apron,
Lapped by waves,
Two beached craft still:
Not to enjoy summer.
Seaside towns:
Emptiness links lagoons:
Close Nightly.
In Ventnor.
Enter in the hotel room.
When the radio mast gets hit:In Kodak.
'you took no notice'.
On Winchelsea Beach,
A woman, rushed me said she
near disappeared into quicksand.
I went on to admire
Sea defences at Dymechurch,
Where God and Nature
Created derelict perfection.
24th January 2009
