At last, a new poem follows below: I’ve been working on this one for ages – at last it is finished.
The magnificent arc of Rhossili Bay can be found at the extreme western edge of the Gower peninsula in South Wales. My wife and I have walked along the path that leads from Rhossili village above the beach and along the foot of the downs to Hillend caravan park. Each time we take this walk, it almost seems as if the few caravans that are dotted amongst the dunes, away from the main caravan part, have moved closer to the sea. It’s almost as if … well, I hope that the poem puts this into words.
The Caravan Site
Camouflaged caravans make their escape
from the confines of their temporary pen.
The bold leader – a two birth or three –
has slid across the sand
to the edge of the welcoming sea.
A tunnel is out of the question,
escape through the dunes is the way.
After the summer residents pack up and leave,
the six-berths float into the spray
Summer returns and owners scratch their heads.
There are gaps in the serried ranks.
“What’s happened, what’s to do?
“They left us without even a thanks.”
No-one knew, no-one would say,
no-one would hazard a guess.
So they strengthened the fences and built up the walls,
“We can’t have this, who is going to confess?”
Next winter came and encouraged the sea
to wash away the fences and men.
All that remains now is a sparkly inlet,
no sign of the prisoners’ pen.
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