Half Moon Bay
I remember half moon bay
Before they built the power station,
When the name befitted the beauty of the place,
When I was 5 years old,
Me and my mother sat on a tartan travel rug,
On the grass at half moon bay,
I wore a red ruched swimming costume in shiney material,
My mother wore an out of fashion dress,
It had red and white stripes and yellow flowers on,
I thought she looked beautiful in this dress,
On that memorable day at half moon bay,
We ate sandwiches together,
I can taste these sandwiches even now,
Mother's pride bread,
Anchor butter,
And a british boiled egg with a blue lion stamped on,
I ate my sandwiches and my kit-kat, washed down with tizer,
Then I ran down to the sea across grass and gravelly sand,
I put my red plastic sandaled feet into cold water,
Then, I could see the sea weed, crabs and untreated sewage in Morecambe Bay,
Now, I cannot see all the pollution in the Irish sea,
And my children have never paddled in the water at half moon bay.

Beachcombing
Walking along wet sand,
Sea retreating,
Sea weed dries,
Seagulls glide,
Curlews call their lonely sound,
Over a mill pond sea,
People pick over tide lines,
Orange netting,
Rusty can,
Pink mother of pearl shell,
PLastic milk bottle,
Blue stilleto shoe,
Sodden embassy cigarette packet,
And a brown oil smeared herron's feather,
Littered life remains,
Lie stranded,
Exposed
On beaches in Morecambe bay.

Engulfed by Sea
The night the West End Pier washed away,
You were staying in a sea-front bed and breakfast,
We watched the waves from the top floor of the boarding house,
You had walked out of your parents' home,
The sea lashed over the rooftops,
There had been a row,
The tide must have reached at least one hundred feet high,
Each time the sea receded another car floated along the road,
It was spectacular,
I rang my parents,
They were just a few streets away,
Dad had taken up the downstairs carpet,
Turned off the electricity,
And had gone back to bed,
Sea water lapped beneath the floorboards,
We drank vermouth and lemonade,
Next morning travelling on a bus along the promenade,
The debris of the night's storm littered the road and gardens,
The amusement arcade on the West End Pier had been engulfed by the sea,
People with metal detectors searched for coins on the beach,
That was more than 25 years ago,
You went back home,
The Pier was never restored,
We don't speak now,
Storms leave their mark on lives.

All poems © 2002 . Please contact the writer if you wish to use this work.