I wrote this poem after a walk along Sandymount Strand in Dublin. The baths, built in 1883 were abandoned in 1920 but still exist as a concrete structure on the beach. It struck me how something so revered at one time can suddenly be abandoned and I wanted to put myself in its place and this poem is the result.
I read it out last week as part of the launch of The Poetry Bus (Issue 4).
Monolith of Sandymount
Beneath cumulus is home
moored to a gold expanse
purple fronds coating my outsides
amongst barnacles that cling tight.
Pleasure was my architect,
to cup children in watery innards
rock to their laughter and
part where they fell.
Nearly a century has passed
a victim of others caresses;
a stroke, a spray of colour and calligraphy
from signatories that never return.
Like them my beloved is fickle
bestowing frothy caresses when it suits,
retreating when day returns as if
embarrassed of the night before.
Birds taunt me with their soars
while crabs dance unashamedly
their clicks and cackles
wound as cracks.
The city loves me though,
envelops me in outstretched arms
cranes and spires stretching upwards
needling the sky.
I await the crumble to
wrench granite legs and
join my love at the horizon
plummet to her cerulean depths.