Cemetery Tale

Originally posted in our shrine of spookiness Shadows Time here is a poem written by Dominic, who now pens his prose over at the Poetry Shelf, so you can go read it there as well.

Severn Beach

Even more desolate than a seaside town out of season is a seaside town that’s never in season, and the poem below about Severn Beach, once a popular seaside resort – alas no more – captures that sense of forsaken melancholy perfectly. This rather pensive piece of prose comes from our amazing Dominic – who has branched out with a blog of his own so check out: Poetry Shelf for more poems and discussion on all things lyrical.

Out on Severn Beach

Out on Severn Beach

The shingle feels the rain

set upon forgotten earth

away from all that’s sane,

the sky frustrates the light

dictating moods below

the bridges’ shadow casts across

that takes away the glow,

voices pass through the air

then descend in to the sea

nothing lasts to tell a soul

nor pass the words to me,

pity takes the evening

when the dormant sleep

for pity stalks the coastal path

where it earns its keep.

Dominic

 

Tower

Children play beneath

the towers’ unwashed lost souls –

lost as they will be

By Dominic

Dark Sky

We struggle underneath

forcing down the sun

fills the air we breath;

Sparkling orange light

with a back drop so forceful

freedom gives up the fight;

Yet the morning dawns

lifts the hold of nights’ grip

lights up the people’s scorn.

By Dominic

Rain

Rain falls upon us

the ground soaked beneath our feet;

lets hope the sun comes up.

by Dominic

 

Noticed

Within my gaze are things I’ve never found

upon the ground, often with no sound

across the road that lies within my touch

there isn’t much, that doesn’t seem as such,

by the water across a sandy shore

what’s been before, what won’t happen any more,

fields of golden brown the bakers’ favourite wheat

under my feet, it feels a hidden treat,

laughter amongst family and closest friends

the wounds it mends, the gloom that it transcends,

by day a path and night a mystery

as what we see and what it means to me.

By Dominic

 

Canine

Woken by the ringing bell

the canine barks and haunts the door

upon realising it’s not for him

he falls asleep upon the floor.

by Dominic.

Carousel!

Spring is definitely here! Went for a quick walk along the beach today and was delighted to hear the haunting strains of the Victorian organ accompanying Brighton’s beautiful Electric Golden Gallopers.

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

W.B Yeats

Bench

Lining paths across our commons

facing out to sea,

offering the fatigued mass a

place at once to be.

To all a seat of comfort

but it can be more,

loved ones gone but not forgotten

by the sandy shore,

on top of hill tops in the downs

in parks and cemeteries,

around town squares, in beer gardens

beneath wheezing trees.

For me a chance to glance surroundings

whilst others share discourse,

sweet nothings shared amongst laughter

before the strained divorce.

By Dominic

George

 

George was different

to others, like the way he

walked and strangely

stroked his hair,

he muttered in muffled tones

whilst avoiding other’s

glare, bless our George. This

made others wonder why

he seemed so distant what

did he ponder, on and on

this went and then at school

the others thought who’s

the fool, what’s the

story with George?

So they poked him, laughed

and pulled his hair and hid

his scarfe, he’d look upset

they didn’t care. Then

came the punches the

kicks and slaps during

lunches, no mercy shown

the barrage rained on!

In fear George fled

but the others came and

battered him till he bled,

till nothing more was said

by poor old George.

 

by Dominic.