November 10, 2014

Blackpool by Michael Holme

The tide is coming in
stirring the murk of sediment 
below fluffy clouds
of water.

Sunlight bounces off the time-lapsed like images 
of a sky, 
and an elasticity holds in vastness.
Blackpool in spring warms to get ready.

We’ve longed for our day out here
to break the monotony of suburbia.
Rain daggers fall on Manchester; here diamonds 
pinprick the blue sheet that climbs to the precipice.

Summer will bring thousands;
honest Northerners. We’ll be back.
We’ll sit again eating fish and chips
dreaming beyond the edge to slow Ireland.

Michael Holme is a 40+-year-old UK writer. He has been published in many places, and poems are gathered at When he’s not writing he plays the piano and gorps at his budget art collection. He’s recently been seduced by abstraction.

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