POEM TITLE The Painting
POEM The outline is a ship, stuck solid in the shores, the bridges frame its stature, and
are glistening in the storm.
We turn away and leave them and notice the orange hue, it’s the Lobster Pot, the
little pub, the perfect little gem. We smell the air, the sand, the sea, the fish being cooked in Blackness-on-sea.
The chef is busy, the tide is out, the lights on the bridges flicker and shout. Visitors
flock, and residents take stock, of Blackness, the castle, and the Lobster Pot.
The picture is set, the painting complete. I’ve finished my sketch, Blackness, the
castle, and the Lobster Pot, done!
It’s time to put my brushes away, and maybe visit on another bright day. Off home I
go, along the John Muir Way, I’ll definitely be back… unless, of-course, I stay!?