green water rushing out to sea salutes the staithes in passing
slab cut steel silhouettes the history from submarines to wind power
the old jetty watches the blades describe giant swathes of energy
as breezes carry the scent of vinegar reminding me of lunch...
I two and six myself into the queue amongst the other battered hopefuls
uneven glass distorts the old lighthouse highlighting 'salt water baths'
memorials like ancient guards tell stories of Spion Kop and Dunkirk
Wensleydale Terrace to the bandstand, stone bollards promenade
the beach road sugared with sand describes the arc of the bay
toward the beach huts the colour of fishing cottages catching the light
sword grass in the dunes wave tourists past the shore battery
navigating the walked links, a final glimpse of Blyth masts in the distance