DARTMOUTH - The Seagull
Posted: Wed Mar 07, 2012 9:26 pm
DARTMOUTH
There seems to be more seagulls in Dartmouth then anywhere else in Devon. This quaint town, with its narrow streets and old world feel, must be one of the gens of the county.
Looking out over the estuary, it is not to difficult to imagine an old galleon sailing into port. The quay area has, in itself, been the backdrop for a movie or television period drama. The ghosts of the past seem to lurk everywhere you look.
Across the river lies Kingswear and its steam railway, linking this part of the world to the holiday resort of Paignton. By steam train, followed by the ferry is a lovely way to approach Dartmouth, with its mystic energy.
The Seagull
High upon the cliffs in Devon
There lives a bird that thinks it heaven
Souring high, on thermal air
Then diving for fish without a care
Past the boats, they head inshore
Perching high, above the valley floor
Fisherman's cottage gleam in white
Huddles together, as they might
Tourists buy lunch, to take away
Sit by the quay, to pass the day
Soggy chips, and fish in batter
Salt and vinegar and pointless chatter
The gulls on high, spy a little treat
Cry with delight, and wave their feet
Defending their chips, like life depended
Wave arms like windmills, and paper upended
Fish goes one way and chips go t'other
Had enough, they head for cover
Safe at last, but all in a state
Don't look up it's to late.
© Ray Steed 2012
There seems to be more seagulls in Dartmouth then anywhere else in Devon. This quaint town, with its narrow streets and old world feel, must be one of the gens of the county.
Looking out over the estuary, it is not to difficult to imagine an old galleon sailing into port. The quay area has, in itself, been the backdrop for a movie or television period drama. The ghosts of the past seem to lurk everywhere you look.
Across the river lies Kingswear and its steam railway, linking this part of the world to the holiday resort of Paignton. By steam train, followed by the ferry is a lovely way to approach Dartmouth, with its mystic energy.
The Seagull
High upon the cliffs in Devon
There lives a bird that thinks it heaven
Souring high, on thermal air
Then diving for fish without a care
Past the boats, they head inshore
Perching high, above the valley floor
Fisherman's cottage gleam in white
Huddles together, as they might
Tourists buy lunch, to take away
Sit by the quay, to pass the day
Soggy chips, and fish in batter
Salt and vinegar and pointless chatter
The gulls on high, spy a little treat
Cry with delight, and wave their feet
Defending their chips, like life depended
Wave arms like windmills, and paper upended
Fish goes one way and chips go t'other
Had enough, they head for cover
Safe at last, but all in a state
Don't look up it's to late.
© Ray Steed 2012