"beyound" poems - Hello Poetry

+ A bed-sits high and dry,marooned on a sandbank of night. As radio 4-casts its nets to isolated ships like me that rudderless drift on into the light. Still dark outside,no sounds,save the distant echoing bark of a hungry fox ----streets away. Another dawn ripped blackbin bag of a day creeps and ouzes in Heavy unfocused lids fogged in the steamy smokeyness of tea and a first fag plenty of time plenty of time. Time before the world wakes to the morning pips and its flushing, brushing, rushing sounds A greyness gathers just beyound my pained curtains, as with a silent sigh a roosted blackbird clears its fasted throat. Then as if by magic I 'm carried, scimming high above and beyound this mooring set in a silvered sea,on a welcomed mantra known to all. As if a calling pray at day break,following each word in a moment subline Un angle vole un angle vole. Rockall - Malin - Hebrides Humber - Fisher - German bight Thames - Dover - Wight. Each single secert understood and noted only by a few as I glide over in paced, pausey surf rolling words North northeast - 994 - Falling slowly - Low pressure moving away - Gales 8 very poor - Backing 3-4 later - Mainly good - Becoming variable - Syclonic later - Increasing 6-7 mainly west - Swally showers for a time - Fair - Good. Oh so good, each pure English comforting sounds heard over lapping waves of air. The bushy wet nosed fox sulks and cowers away from the breaking sun, as the blackbird draws a dewdropped breath though golden nib and tapping gently, call a hidden choir into song just for me. Reminding me of the things I'd for gotten I care about. Sharp timed unwelcomed pips flood the ears to prise open sticky eyes from promised dreams and spoon-cuddles warm As I set forth on wetted pavements, ready to decline into my charted day. Yet smiling as if blessed and no longer alone But filled with early morning salty thoughts of strangers I have yet to meet

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Feb 24, 2011

Feb 24, 2011 at 7:47 AM UTC

christopher-holmes

Brighton Early

+ A bed-sits high and dry,marooned on a sandbank of night. As radio 4-casts its nets to isolated ships like me that rudderless drift on into the light. Still dark outside,no sounds,save the distant echoing bark of a hungry fox ----streets away. Another dawn ripped blackbin bag of a day creeps and ouzes in Heavy unfocused lids fogged in the steamy smokeyness of tea and a first fag plenty of time plenty of time. Time before the world wakes to the morning pips and its flushing, brushing, rushing sounds A greyness gathers just beyound my pained curtains, as with a silent sigh a roosted blackbird clears its fasted throat. Then as if by magic I 'm carried, scimming high above and beyound this mooring set in a silvered sea,on a welcomed mantra known to all. As if a calling pray at day break,following each word in a moment subline Un angle vole un angle vole. Rockall - Malin - Hebrides Humber - Fisher - German bight Thames - Dover - Wight. Each single secert understood and noted only by a few as I glide over in paced, pausey surf rolling words North northeast - 994 - Falling slowly - Low pressure moving away - Gales 8 very poor - Backing 3-4 later - Mainly good - Becoming variable - Syclonic later - Increasing 6-7 mainly west - Swally showers for a time - Fair - Good. Oh so good, each pure English comforting sounds heard over lapping waves of air. The bushy wet nosed fox sulks and cowers away from the breaking sun, as the blackbird draws a dewdropped breath though golden nib and tapping gently, call a hidden choir into song just for me. Reminding me of the things I'd for gotten I care about. Sharp timed unwelcomed pips flood the ears to prise open sticky eyes from promised dreams and spoon-cuddles warm As I set forth on wetted pavements, ready to decline into my charted day. Yet smiling as if blessed and no longer alone But filled with early morning salty thoughts of strangers I have yet to meet