Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nigdaw Jul 31
I can hear the noise of the world, always
In my ears, like the sea never leaves the shell,
No matter how far travelled by a beachcomber
Who takes their souvenir home.
No matter how far I roam, the world follows up
It’s chaotic tone, voices shouting, ringing phones,
Cars with car horns rushing to be late
Somewhere they really don’t want to go.
Fools, vagabonds, gypsies, businessmen, wives
Police and thieves, cannot escape the gravitational
Drag of the world on their destiny.
I can hear the swish of their existence in my sleep
It never leaves me, like the restless tide it creeps.
Daniel Jul 27
An ocean away in Colwyn bay,
a glamorous stranger is looking my way
tilting her head and lifting her shades,
her furrowing features are meeting my gaze

Shamelessly eyed from a platform away
As if she had something important to say
Then turning around with a curious frown,
she starts back towards her familiar town

To elegant houses of ashlar and brick
A terrace of Gothic adornments and frills
Victorian angles and white window sills,
becoming the specks which are dotting the hills

A town held aloft by a battered plateau
and anchored to ocean by columns of stone
A picturesque coastline, a spring getaway
The home of a stranger, her postcard landscape

The rattle of metal and the wheels over rails
The men wearing colours are starting to wave
My thoughts turning back to that taciturn dame
The din of the train means I'm pulling away
Marla Jun 28
“I was happy just then,” thought the girl by the sea
“For a moment I did not recall -
That there is the ache of existence in me,
When the voice in my head went so small.”

“Just a minute ago, when the raindrops began,
The weight on my heart swam away.
The voices and figures, they bustled and ran,
So the showering silence could stay”

“With the first bursts of thundering, thoughtless relent,
The fever of life was relieved.
As were the teardrops, the tremors, the torment.
A flawed absolution achieved”
Ella Downing Mar 25
We like to go to the cliff on Fridays
and sit three abreast
Staring out in to the abyss of sea and night and life
Having our thoughts and ideas and plans affirmed by each other
- for each other.
Fuelled by rolled up cigarettes and hope.

We know we are different
Special.
We are best friends.

We don't go to the cliff anymore
Times have changed and we have grown up and we are not as sure that we are as different or as special as we were then.
Maybe we have lost hope
We haven't lost the cigarettes yet.

But we are still best friends, the same but different
Older yet still young in our concepts of each other. Our souls as sisters, still sitting next to each other.

Three abreast. Three best.
Anna Jackson Feb 21
Weary eyed shop workers curse the sight of dawn,
A drunken Hen stumbles and her tutu gets torn,
The smell of burning chip fat invades my nose,
‘Chips for breakfast?!’ I cry, chewing marshmallows,
I venture towards the tower feeling free as a bird,
When SPLAT on my shoe lands a seagull ****.
Rough with the smooth - that’s what this town’s all about,
I think as a man pulls his Jokebooks out,
‘It’s for charity!’ he lies. ‘I live here mate..’
‘Oh right, soz love, fancy a date?’’
I ignore the geezer and gaze out to the sea,
Wondering where the Lochness Monster might be..
Soaking up the sights as 2 drunks start to fight,
‘OI’ I shout, as a kid sets a bin alight.
Skaters jump like kangaroos on the bandstand,
As health freaks tut, running rapid on the sand.
Children charge like apes in supersensory mazes,
While parents eye arcades with terror on their faces,
Suddenly crisp packets dance in the air,
As the wind picks up and whips at my hair.
‘It’s hometime for me!’ A hailstone hits my eyeball,
And the blue sky runs behind some grey clouds of storm,
There’s not many places with 4 seasons in a day!
So don’t let the weather throw you into disarray.
‘Blackpool’ I say, ‘a town of stark contrast…’
As a horse driven carriage then a rat stroll past.
A town to make memories no matter how worn,
That time never erases as new ones get born.

Back in Bispham, where the prom’s a bit safer,
The oldies don’t buy 3 Hammers, just pies and papers,
I step off the number 11 bus and shout ‘Thanks!’
The bus driver grunts, takes his hand out his pants,
Then speeds down our beautiful, glistening prom,
Full of lights that probably shouldn’t still be on.
Johnny walker Dec 2018
Notes on the door
saying I'll pay you
double next week
then Helen and I to
the train station
we would
go
There to board a train
to the seaside for that
how we were back then
a time when we were so much
younger
Everything done on the spare of the moment
not a care in the world
did we
have
For we had each other and that's all we needed back then for we were young and In love thats all that
mattered
Notes on the door pay next week  of to seaside we'd go for we young and very much In love that's all that mattered   then
Em Mar 2018
It's just a house
on four posts
that managed to encase
my heart in it
and lock it up
with the key.

It's just a house
that got swallowed
and my heart went with it.
Locked up and lost
into the sea.
Next page