March Create: The End of the Pier
Created | Updated Mar 16, 2014
wrought iron coiled like icing.
Fashionable ladies rustled in silk,
fortune tellers promised long life,
music drifted from bands to drown
threatening voices of wind and sea.
A snake of fire hatched on the pier
tasted and swallowed woodwork,
slithered among columns and walkways,
uncoiled scarlet through windows.
A grey confusion of smoke arose
volcanic eruption over the sea.
Merely a memory of the ballroom remains.
A turtle-shell of twisted tubes and stays
garlanded with fishing nets and twine
emerges rust-red from a grey silk sea.
Echoes of pavilion whisper on sky:
orphan columns bearing empty air.
