Fishing Village

A Saltire blows on the breeze
Blue ganzies flap in the wind

The sea rocks up on the shore
Near white washed cottages
Like an old grey hippie, kippered with fags
Smoky and tangle haired

Smoke trails from a chimney
Into a mackerel sky stretched out to drying
A gate creaks on its hinges

The sea has no travel documents
No passport no visa
A salt bitten, see-through jellyfish
Is landlocked on the shore
Good riddance say heroic silver surfers

The tide froths in
Like a slut's soiled bedding

by Sheena Blackhall

Comments (1)

The most beautiful piece I have read all year! Absolutly stunning and so true. Touch is the universal lanuageof love not material gifts. Fantastic penning. Top marks and now a fav!