Castle Poetry

PIER

It goes all the way out,

nothing moored to an iron rail, two or three telescopes,

comes back in with candyfloss,

a gull’s heckle, a sunken arcade,

hard-edged machines that flash and glint, each punter

playing by himself, nudging

the money shot. By day you promenade –

take your time, take the healing air,

like Jessie and Herbert, in 1943, as waves

hassle the girders, and a palmist

considers another palm. At the kiosk a widow

is enquiring about scattering ashes:

the hour after high tide’s best, she’s told,

an offshore wind. Before it strutted its stuff, Keats was here,

caring for his brother, tracing

the story of Endymion, writing to Reynolds

the world is full of misery and heartbreak, pain, sickness,

and oppression. Here honeymooners

walk on water, hand in hand:  

a starlit night is a beautiful thing, says Charlie to Kai,

between kisses. Security set cameras, alarms,

padlock the front doors: a guard takes home

his dog; tombstoners turn in their beds; a restless sea,

new day in its lap, is starting back in.

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Jeff Skinner’s poems are widely published, most recently in Morphrog, The Passionfruit Review, Ink, Sweat and Tears, Atrium; and are forthcoming in Anthropocene and The Aftershock Review. His pamphlet Us was shortlisted for the Live Canon prize. In July 2023 he was diagnosed with a neuro-degenerative condition. He lives in Exeter.

This poem, Pier, was highly commended in the Teignmouth Poetry Competition (Graham Burchell Award) 2021.