In what will be an occasional series, I’ll be taking some of the poetry I’m creating, editing and refining and posting it for a wider audience. This piece failed to place in a competition last year. It is a portrait of the town I now call my home, both good and bad.

Thank you for reading.

Pier into the Unknown

Try to hear ahead, except again
too tough, here in the darkest days

concrete line defining shore to sea
eroding tidal force of apathy; accept

inside black, blue never quite agrees
fresh London mark upon their palm

testimony to old space, slowly absorbs
a proper home, mind always yearned to own

ancestry never found a means, not one.

Borough spaces, once as landfill
broken homes, so many churches

denomination bankrupt by same source:
fresh block of flats somebody else's chance

to break debt's cycle, maybe move away
yet still it stays, beholden somehow as

Essex's Way, littered with other's bigotry
each crevice, filled then papered over, done

ancestry holds each secret, every own.

Yet, to look beyond, mark time
others fail, diverse pathways prevail

shale of oyster's sensual base, you see
strength in prevailing attitudes, agree

outside a stereotype, brilliance lit large
creative forces honing crafts, increasing worth

attestation, life is what mind fashions, real
paper’s testament you'll always own

ancestry smiles, dictates victories won.

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