Out Of The Rubble: Porthoustock…
Gloomy waters barely broke upon an uninviting shore,
Etched black by sucked residue
On sombre, hardened sand;
Humped tarmac road hardly split an unwelcoming beach,
Defiled repugnant by broken rubble,
Across flat, parking strand.
Solemn dereliction barely enhanced the cove’s appeal,
Risen stark, of hideous design
On high, dank wall;
Scarred working quarry hardly embellished the overall vista,
Oppressive, deposited boulders awaited collection,
Above tyre-hung quay’s gall.
Random craft barely compensated this unsightly shore,
Creased, marked by winding gear
On pungent, crushed shell;
Patched, ill-repaired hovels hardly housed their rusting winches,
Slimed brown by persistent tides,
Nesting under cliff’s cell.
Incongruous hamlet barely harmonised with monstrous seaboard,
Placid cottages standing firm and white
In tight, pleasant huddle,
Contrasting furiously, hardly akin to neighbouring dilapidation.
Old lifeboat house, now the village hall,
Presided over Porthoustock’s heinous muddle…
Pete Ray
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