Tynemouth – a poem

Tynemouth

 

A ring of townhouses

engaged in encircling the bearded cliff

sit, frowning at tempestuous purple-grey shadows;

framed landscapes hung under picture-light eyes.

 

A storm:

rocky tears fall,

beached, birthing

into the infinite swirl of sea.

 

My odyssey is wine-red.

 

Waves crash against townhouses;

blood-drop spittle lands on windows

as a cat inside flexes its paws

and the current grinds tears into sand.

 

 

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