The Dark Sky Streets
Don’t judge, the little shop with the fudge.
The mouth of the Lyn, in the pub for a gin
From the fourteenth century inn.
Watch the surfers all spin, locals bearing, a sometimes overbearing, grudge.
Don’t park in Park Street, in the Ton that’s the town at the top of the cliff –
Take the lift. Loads of water weighing the carriage down in the mouth,
Prevailing wind from the South – West is best – take off your socks
When you visit the Valley of Rocks, stroke a goat, or gawk at the White Lady.
Office blocks don’t spring up, no-one’s travelling through to get somewhere new;
Lights go out in the night and the sky is a sight to behold –
Full of tiny points that are huge, and the workers trundle by
In their space station that’s not very stationary!
Moves so fast –
We’re aghast at the ideas that flow through the dark sky streets
Of Lynton and Lynmouth.
© Roddy Haswell
Roddy's Poems
Tap Dancing Spider
Read about Harry the Spider as he learns to tap dance …
Roddy Haswell
