Return To The Esplande by Liam Wilkinson

The Esplanade is just as I left it.

Here is the Red Lea Hotel, the Royal,
the house we said we’d buy with the writer’s turret,
the memorial benches, parked in remembrance.

Here is the line of wide eyed cars,
their colours hushed by Dawn
and here, the sunken café
deals its breakfast plates across the bay.

But instead of bright windows,
in place of loose-haired holiday makers
in green dresses and blue smoke,
there hangs a mosaic of yellow reminders,
licked to stick across the coast,
these epileptic tongues
trading rumours in the wind.

Here are those familiar cliffs, now
the fridge doors of my busy agenda.

Listen to the quick notes
of my once great symphony!

by Liam Wilkinson

Other poems by 'Liam Wilkinson'

Back Bedroom Baroque

The Execution

Election Day Campaign

Our Four Months

The Lunatic

Welcome Here


On The Map


On Blake Street

Search Poems
e.g. love, marriage, kids

Popular poems this week

In Silence We Left

The Lost Dances of Cranes

The Author to her Book

Summer Evening

The Lesson

A chilly Peace infests the Grass

To Mæcenas

You Fit Into Me

mr youse needn't be so spry..

Oh, honey of an hour