The evening enveloped us
as we stood on the beach at Newquay.
In the sand, with sunburnt fingers
we had scrawled our man-given names,
symbols to bond us together,
dusty blood brothers, father and son.
We watched the rise and fall of the timeless tide
which would certainly erase our random scratchings.
Behind us the carnival madness
of one armed bandits and revelry erupted,
the microcosms of hedonistic pursuit and
man’s compulsive struggle for material gain,
those false tormentors
that bind us firmly to the lie of Everyday.
Only the gulls that drifted above
reflected the true spirit of man,
which has faced the facts,
escaped the murderous strains of ego,
the falsehoods of ‘I’.
must face the facts.
He pointed at the lights
reflected upon the waves
it’s like a Van Gogh painting!’’
I saw him then, suddenly
my carnival years had passed,
blind years of sensual endeavours.
called to mind the myth
of all eternal art,
how really one man’s tortured output
merely entertains the masses.
My son beckoned, pointing to a mound
that stood upon the threshold of destruction.
Why? I thought, picking up the spade.
The tide that swamps the eagle’s nest,
that fells the fiery kings
that timeless tide will wash it all away.
Only the gulls,
by their absence
Photo Nick Victor
ONLY THE GULLS was originally published by the late Jay Ramsey in Rivelin Grapheme back in ’88.