Sunday 30 December 2012

Christmas At Peacehaven, 2012



The sky appears to clear but another layer of grey
moves in to fill its gap, a tease of blue and
upliftings – though only thermals for the birds.
Herring gulls arrive from inland rather than the sea,
seeming tourists like me, and they dive at the dark others,
being bigger and envious of their similar or surer hovers.

It is then a full shroud of grey, so sudden the surprise
has missed its chance for that brief buzz, and now
in another quick shift I am baking behind bungalow glass,
sitting in sun knowing this should be the narrative and
theme yet driven by mood and preoccupation like the
Christmas wind's wild control of cloud formations this
stormy winter in Peacehaven. In town, the Murder House
was also someone else's home before the dark rolled in.


I actually had a great Christmas week at Peacehaven this year. With a house on the cliffs overlooking the sea, the wild weather was something exciting to observe. But it was wet and windy and grey and the poem above captures a moment of reflection and then exaggerates that - it is the narrative ruse; the dramatisation for effect. The empty Murder House in Peacehaven has its appellation and other messages painted in bright red letters all along its walls and front and you can find details about the story online. Just in case anyone is interested in the process.

Rental in row to left, and view on the one fine, beautiful day.

1 comment:

  1. Vivid and intriguing, Some Awe. Perhaps there is a short story in there too? A great setting for a ghostly tale...

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