Thursday 30 June 2022

Sidyngborne (draft)



For to mourn here 

each day the Tudor Rose 

is 99p, and the king loses nothing

on clay substrate sinking again 

midstream in dead grass

with wrecked boats 

where nothing lives 

from Recreation Way 

to Green Porch Close 

and Holy Trinity Church 

sometimes in grasswort 

and golden samphires, 

for protection against 

the hard reed bed 

 look out at the Swale 

under the new EU

directive is brown-red 

and the unpeopled estate 

is the mud of UK paper, 

where the Fleet Streets conspired 

amongst the migrant moths

near Ridham Docks 

known by their fruits 

of Euromix concrete

O watch ward over veil 

at Christmas 1454

as the topsoil yields 

a silver penny

that the mad gene carried

from France, 

and containerboard a red knot

on Roman walk badly paved 

the whistling postman 

not from France but from 

bourne stands sometimes sits 

but does not beg

for it is charity 

and he is old

and stays in the memory 

like the Battle of Britain 

or a Christmas fire.

I would walk the creek

near pipes of Milton Pipes

anon out the earth 

and not say nothing 

I would go to The Saxon Shore Way

formerly Church Marshes Country Park, 

formerly a disused landfill site 

 to Toy Town

stand in middle of palm tree

roundabout or  

with pylon in the middle

and ask, blind men

where am I?  under venerated springs,

or a post industrial pilgrimage?

and said to song 

as a place of inns and bore most 

where it ought not to bear 

at all, and it did not bear 

at all where it ought 

to have been borne most