(5 April 1837 - 10 April 1909 / London)

Breakwater

I went out onto the breakwater
the memories afloat on the waves...

I took a walk on the breakwater
feeling smiles
and sadness,
bittersweet recall
on the cool breeze,
invoking memories
I’m not sure I even have.

Dividing line,
wild and calm,
I felt the heat
of the Arctic wind.

All the friends
who have come to harm
those who, much too early,
chose to leave
this rocky beach.

Ringing the changes
as we all must do,
the plague bells clang,
they are louder every day.

I see you through
coloured rose, the prism
of time
like that July moon.
Remember?

I went down to the breakwater.
It looks pretty much the same,
though my eyes have changed.
I walked slowly along
that solid wall.
Everything changes, after all.

Are my memories real?
Are these old emotions what I really feel?

It’s like an in-joke now,
This steely wind endured by we
Hardy Northern Folk.



But you are south now
gone where summer nights
give you glow.
I hope so.

It would be so good, maybe,
if one day we could return there-
one last promenade
before the cold
gets us all,
no matter where we are.

by Garry Stanton

Comments (1)

Now mine own soul sighs, adrift as wind and straying, 'Had I wist.' indeed, wonderful poem.