Sidmouth Seafront

Sidmouth Seafront prose poem

Photo by bradhoc

It’s the end of April, winter’s signs are just fading
And we’ve gone to the seafront, walking along the promenade.
Sometimes stopping
To gaze at the murky brown winter’s-end ocean…
But why?

Stepping down onto the shingle,
The large pebbles uncomfortable on my feet.
In the distance
I see plumes of cooking-smoke.
Billowing from metal grates on the ground,
People gathered around them.
My sister goes to throw a stone
Into the murky brown winter’s-end ocean.
But why?

The pebbles grow smaller, easier to walk on.
My parents continue to slowly stroll,
Taking in that sea air that I can’t smell.
I wander ahead, stepping up onto the promenade,
And I wait for for my parents
As they keep gazing at the murky brown winter’s-end ocean.
But why?

We traverse the promenade,
Stepping down onto the pebbles,
Once again large and uncomfortable.
So I stay on the concrete,
Sidling along, on the space between the railing and the beach.
And soon I come across a bench,
So I sit and listen to the seagulls
Crooning their grating song
To the shingle crunching and scraping underfoot.
Not that it means anything.
And soon my family sit with me
As I listen to the waves
Of the murky brown winter’s-end ocean.
But why?

Soon, my father stands up, smiling at us
And we make to leave.
Walking back up the seafront,
To our blue Toyota,
Which takes us back home,
Away from the pebbles, the gulls,
And away from the murky brown winter’s-end ocean.
But why?

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Ed Gosling

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My muse is like an excitable dog. It catches sight of totally random things and starts yapping and running around and wagging its tail and WILL NOT STOP until I write a poem about it.My poetry is sometimes based on personal experience and sometimes on other things. Aside from that, I enjoy video games (My favourite game series is Mass Effect) and the popular television show My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.
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Sidmouth Seafront 2: Hele Cove

Sidmouth Seafront 2: Hele Cove long poem

It’s around mid-Spring, the sunshine’s out But there’s still a tinge of winter wind. And once again, we’re standing On a little cove beach, looking out At the powder-blue, mid-Spring ocean. But why? My sister’s running around, Collecting shells and