, , , , , , , , , , , ,

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).

Sandymount baths

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.