Tynemouth – a poem



A ring of townhouses

Engaged in encircling the bearded cliff,

Sit, frowning at tempestuous

Purple-grey shadows,

The shared colour scheme

Of tossed pillows hanging —

A framed landscape 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 undercurrent grinds tears into sand.


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