Creative Writing

(That’s right, it’s my bad poetry)

Bognor Rocks

At very low tides in my home town of Bognor Regis, the rocks become visible. In a way they are a symbol of the town. The football club is nicknamed Bognor Rocks and there used to be a music and arts festival called ROX. The rocks are shown on maps, but actually seeing them is a rare occasion.

Oh Bognor rocks
Gathering at low tide
Pilgrims of the ocean 
Come to pay tribute
At the foot of the pier

Oh Bognor rocks
Waves breaking
In communion with black hooded gulls
Anchorite lobsters
And priestly prawns

Oh Bognor rocks
Under the stained glass dawn
And the ritual of the tides
Wish me well on my way
To better fishing grounds

The Wilkes Head, Eastergate, January 2022

River

Heavy rain and the river broke free

Forgot the place of land and sea

Restless river, no sleep in your bed

Took to exploring the land instead

River grey as a Lancashire day

Swept it all downstream and away

               Longsight, Manchester, February 2021

On Seeing ‘Welcome Home’ by Anita Lafford

“Welcome Home” by Anita Lafford is a sculpture near the pier in Fleetwood, Lancashire. Fleetwood is a seaside town that was once a thriving fishing port, sadly much of the industry has moved away to other locations but the town retains a strong cultural identify.

Walking on Fleetwood promenade one lonely Saturday 
Cold and blowy and thinking of you
Priestly figures out and about, walking dogs
Or contemplative behind car windows
Wound up, radios on
Then, a mother and daughter
Standing with a little dog, waving
Looking out to sea
I half wished they were waiting for me
Staring at the horizon, like fossils of joy
Frozen in that happy moment of arrival
All cares forgotten
Anything possible
That weather beaten bronze
Like an anchor
Tethering their dreams to this place
And like dreamers they stand 
Contemplating nothing
A mother with a baby on her chest
Welcoming home 
Nobody
Wishing me out the way
So their waving might be seen
Perhaps by another frozen figure
Sailing the metallic ocean 
Of time spent waiting
Endlessly, coming to an end
A child’s joy, a mother’s relief
A baby’s bewilderment
All waiting, year after year
Her tears becoming smooth round pebbles at my feet

            Fleetwood, Lancashire, July 2020