Day Trip

Paignton Pier -Liz

The Secret Lochan-Jan

Voyager, Day trip to Mars -Sue

Catching Some Fresh Air- Allan

A child’s picnic Scene- Julia

A walk in the Woods- Annabel

Riverbank- Karen

Kite flying on the beach – Edna
End of the Night -Sue
Blakeney Point Norfolk

Spit of creamy sand

Haunting song of basking seals

Day trip memories


Seagulls swoop on greasy wrappers,

grappling scraps of batter.
We are six and scruffy toed,

Entranced by seaside clatter.

Early waking, plunge feet first,

Our shorts still on the floor,

And breakfast smells are rare and fried,
Before we head to shore.

Our parents balance blankets, things,

Stuff in Tupperware.
Our sandals flap their happy rhythm,

sauntering back there.

This new place takes moments,

for the senses to define-

this happy feeling; childhood pleasure

of pure summertime.

Thumping, pinging, Game Bells ringing,


shouting, pub crawls singing.

Cabaret and lollipops, sickly sherbert fountains.
Funny, naughty postcards, coins piled high like mountains.

Remember what you felt that day; the orangeade you drank?
Remember being terrified, the gaps between each plank?
Remember all the faces, all the knobbly knees and feet?
Remember walking past the pier, the sunshine tasting sweets?

Summer’s thrill, the days are long,
No structure to our day.
Like buildings made from sand and stone,
The sea took time away.

Time prints memories in mint.
Stretched taught like sticks of rock,

The thrills and spills in gaudy blurs,

Spin backwards like our clock.

Faces looming, music booming, feeling slightly sick.
Thrilling invitations.
Neon kiss- me- quick,

Sun is high as time drips by.
In languid sandy seconds.
Screams and dreams and magic beans,
As soon the fairground beckons.

Flash of painted circle,
Spins high, our turn at last.
Pulls us deep, inside the ride,
Frozen smiles – glued fast.

Stomachs fizzing, hands gripped tight,
Words breathed: fly off, …. glisten.
Echoes of our voices fade,
As the spirals quicken.

Days; so long and precious.

Oxygen for dreams.

Stitching through the years like glue,

Tasting like ice cream.


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