The Dream Of The Children Who Jump Like Salmon

Their parents had to flee their country,
they all had their reasons.
Viewing this event I’m ignorant,
I’ve never seen anything quite like it.
They waited at the dock for the children to arrive,
a steam boat returning across the waters.

They only had five minutes
before the authorities became aware.
The children are not allowed on this land,
their boat was spotted way off in the distance.
Hearts bleed and throats scream,
reaching their arms down over the railings.

Overcome with joy the children jumped in
and swam up the dock.
What happened next I simply cannot explain,
it can only described for it was beyond me.
The children leapt up out of the water
and grabbed onto their parents arms.

Hoisted up and embraced with metal in between them,
thier little feet dangled many metres above the water.
They hung on for as long as possible
before they lost their grip and fell back into the salt water.
With only moments to spare they leapt back into their arms,
condensing all their love into words into minutes.

The boatman blew a whistle violently,
the wailing became unbearable as they parted.
The children who jump like salmon swam back,
not knowing if or when they’ll see their parents again.
They drifted off silently into the night
and their parents disbursed quickly before the police arrived.

Standing confused and stunned I was questioned,
I tried asking why the children couldn’t enter the country.
Giving descriptions as vague as possible, blamed on the fog
they left me alone to investigate the incident.
I cried as I walked away, why was I there?
there was no reason to be there at midnight in the first place.

The way the children had leapt up,
the way their parents could only hold them there.
Why was it illegal for them to set foot on land?
Why had they fled without their children?
The pavement is now covered in morning dew,
I must have been walking all night.

The Victorian Pier

Sauntering on the planks,
boats out at sea,
umbrella in my hand,
the grey hanging high.

An old pebble beach,
strolling along the esplanade,
admiring the Italian gardens,
Victorian splendour in autumn.

Holes in my shoes,
the smell of rust,
the smell of salt,
waves dance below us.

Fishermen in the drizzle,
the Pavilion’s history echoes,
empty benches seat ghosts,
the pier their host.

A Painting

Crawl into the painting,
slip in between strokes,
wrap up in warm colour.
It hangs there waiting,
in a drab sitting room,
dust over its entrance,
broken bottles below.
Beauty in chemicals,
powdered still waves,
an idyllic harbour,
away from the storm.
She stands there silently,
looking out to the seven seas,
water coloured by her charm.
A face that was never painted,
a familiar soul,
with welcoming arms,
beckoning the oceans,
inviting us to escape.

I Am Sea

I know I will one day dry out
but for now I need to be wet,
in the bathroom dunking myself
proving I’m not a witch.

A nautical sense is within me,
calmness found in sea breeze,
solace in gentle ripples,
a boat trip is Ritalin to me.

My enthusiasm is a tidal wave,
I drown people in rushing words,
towering waves of specific vagueness,
sweeping them out on my tide.

It’s a conflict within me,
I can be by it or on the cusp,
but being in water I can’t see
the bottom of terrifies me.

Underwater forests flourish
under old wooden platforms,
the sweet smell of saltwater,
comfort found in the sea.