I’m as deaf as the Iron Men I watch far from the squall,

but they see so much more than I do, even through

the gloom and dark of both ends of the day.

That raven black sky is pitted with the most beautiful

fire stained red and blistering orange,

as if a far off volcano had burst into life

and sending its majestic deadly plumage as far as the Crosby coast-line

 

High above the Iron Men seagulls battle bravely,

their squawking, bickering, distasteful arguing is unheard

as they struggle in sheer vain to stay aloft in the winter sky.

I give up the struggle to hear anything above the wind battering

my leather coat and have long since discarded the use of its fellow

trilby, not wishing to add a moment of comedy to other’s otherwise

blustery day.

 

I came here to let air into my stale and feeble feeling lungs,

to let the bitterness of the night before filter away

and take flight back towards where the volcano exploded,

not as audible as Krakatoa but in my mind

still smashing hopeless serenity apart.

The image of Iron Men reminds me that even in darkest gloom

to stand firm against the rising tide of uncalled for derision and pain.

 

Though I rust as quickly as the men on the shore line,

their  soul less, blank, staring eyes know not Time

nor the trouble of seagulls that relieve themselves from above

their heads and add to the complexity of colours surrounding

the wind that rises. The whiteness of the small addition

runs deep and slides downwards.

Life is at times like watching an Iron Man on Crosby Beach

who is able to take all that nature throws at him.

 

Ian D. Hall 2014