It’s the same sounds all round the harbour,
the cries of birds immemorial, echoes
through the cliffs of stacked up buildings, over
masts of twee named boats, men’s bobbing toys.
Your voice is still fresh in my mind, I see
yesterday’s tears in your eyes — that won’t see
me again, our little talks cut off by that corporate
guillotine. It had nothing to do with me.
But didn’t I say you should come here, to Whitby?
Simply to sit, drink it in, watch the gnarled men with sticks
hobble over cobbles, their tight permed wives
with ice creams, moaning, putting worlds to right.
The goths gather here, swarming to darkness,
and the name of Nosferatu, with steampunk dress
codes posing, mingling with transient gulls
strutting their stuff through archaic streets,
owning the place. Enough of my platitudes,
our shared liking for Camembert. You made
your choice, it was the mortgage and the dog,
tethered to the post called debt. It was sad, perhaps
I expected more. So is it sheer folly of me
to hope you read these words? — This tired old man
who just wanted to show you Whitby,
that we might make small talk once more.
Copyright Francis Barker 2020
This swarms with darkness indeed. There’s grief and sadness here as well, but it’s so beautifully written. A longing that can be no longer, choices to make, and then dealing with the fallout. That’s what I’m seeing with this piece. Very beautifully penned. I enjoyed reading it!
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I thank you Lucy!
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I see a whole lot of folly here and there, with deep emotions woven around and through them with deftness. It is sad when those we feel genuine connection with part ways for one reason or another. You never know, she might just show up one day to your home by the water!
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Thank you!
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Wonderful Whitby, the magnet that draws the gorgeous goths! My husband and I took my daughter and her dog about ten years ago. We were staying outside Pickering and went on the steam train. It was one of the best days, including a trip around the harbour in a boat driven by a total maniac! We had some fun watching seagulls steal chips, until they came for ours! Your poem brought it all back to me. I do regret not buying some jet while I was there, but I’m glad I was able to climb the steps up to the abbey – couldn’t do it now. I love the little personal touches between the evocative descriptions – and the wonderful internal rhyme of ‘hobble over cobbles’.
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You are very welcome.
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Thank you, Kim. Whitby is unique.
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I do love how the folly here is so much believing that what’s unsaid has ever been understood… the disappointments of aging, being left unfulfilled.
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Thank you 🙏🏻
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Melancholy on location never read so beautifully, Francis.
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Thank you 🙏🏻
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“So is it sheer folly of me to hope you read these words?” Most certainly not 🙂 it’s always a pleasure to read💝
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Lovely, sad meditation of what’s desired, but unattainable.
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Wells done! A sad separation… So many things come into our lives that can separate us….
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Whitby represents such idealism here, so sad to read “our little talks cut off by that corporate guillotine.” The disappointment is palpable in this poem, so beautifully written.
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Thank you for this visit to Whitby! I love the place, such a beautiful, haunting seaside town. If I ever go back there I’ll be haunted by memories of my vanished youth! This was the first place I ever went on holiday without my parents. I do hope your intended reads and is moved by your words!
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Thank you! It is a lovely place, I agree, though for my own part I have used a bit of poetic license here 🤥😉
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Thank you 🙏🏻
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Thank you 🙏🏻
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Thank you 🙏🏻
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Thank you 🙏🏻
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Haha, I did wonder! Use all the poetic license you like 😊
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melancholic, I sense deep regret about the loss of a potential relationship .. I hope she reads it and visits Whitby soon. well composed!
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Thank you!
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You ar welcome!
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The melancholy in this poem is breathtaking. A whole, sad story in one poem. Beautiful.
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Thank you 🙏🏻
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It’s is folly to think I will not read your words Francis, I enjoyed this — very well written
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Thank you 🙏🏻
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