View from East Cowes seafront facing Cowes, 9.30am 31st March 2011

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem about the Isle of Wight on a wet and windy day.

Submitted: March 30, 2011

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Submitted: March 30, 2011

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The wind lives through me

My hair evil and wild

I am jealous of the sea

My paper would rather drown

 

A shivering, soaking mess

I look upon Cowes with my pen

Scrawling, writing with stress

Is this Island what it seems?

 

Today it has shown its menace

It’s true unforgiving soul

The seagulls cannot fly still

Torn from their food to a hole

 

A hole that we Islanders get stuck in

One in which you cannot escape

No prospects, no climb, no growth

The Isle of Wight Devil he scrapes

 

Scrapes at your eyes

At your sweet, sweet behind

Steals your life

Even alters your mind

Implores you cannot leave

For it is too dangerous

But here the real danger heaves:

Sick on my feet.

 

The Wight water laps around my ankles

Is today the day that it kills me?


© Copyright 2018 George Smith. All rights reserved.

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