mumbling of mumbles

 mumbling of mumbles 

down the long down streets under a castle cupped in sun

run the pubbed and chappeled ways all the way to a bay 

of days cockled and mudded far and away way out out 

to a tideline lost in the haze of a believing that 

by this evening it will be lapping the sea wall

opposite the mermaid and the pilot and the georges 

of the infamous mumbles mile while we wander 

as aimless as aimless was meant to be at our inhalations 

of salt and vinegar on fish and chips and of course 

go on my son and have another one for the crazy golf is

of course as coloured as any sunset through the

leaves of the trees that purloin the gulled boats

drawn up high and mightily dry and rattling their lanyards

at even the slightest breeze that counts our steps

along the promenade at southend to end at

the end of the pier show of fisher if-men and a

lifeboat tolled of untold tragedies and a gift shop 

of parodies and a pub of melodies in chorus to

the high bells on a swell pulling on anchor chains

and buoys as yellow as mustard on any hot dog 

that could not compete or any of the flowerbed’s 

pretensions from the council east of the slipways

green slimed slipping and mothered under the shrieks 

of kids and dogs cross-leashed in their growling at

the end of a day’s outing totally satiated by the

realisation that the names of the rocks might just

trail a sea tendril or two way back to the true

oystercatcher days before the fields were housed

with these wandering lanes spidering all the way

up to that very same castle pale in the milk moon

watering down the village lanes to slumbering seas

beaches and everything that made this a day

the preternatural being and seeing that everything 

has been done and done proper like all day long

and all in just the tide of one day’s long excursion