Rachel J Bowler's photos with the keyword: Weston-super-Mare

Across the sea A thousand swords Forged in the sun Gather. Uniform, abstract. Their silent dance Mesmerises, and Avalon ascends For a moment, Refracting in A myth once glimpsed, Sucked in to a sanctuary Of destruction. Sinking back into Victorian benches, The wood calms, And I look back Towards the town, While the old soldier Watches From his wheelchair.

Friends and family Had disappeared Into the memories Of seashells And candyfloss. Into the notes Of the music at The end of the pier. Into the penny arcade. Into the sand Beneath your feet. Into the heat Of the day. Into an ocean Full of longing. Maybe I ran past You on the beach Many years ago With spade in hand, Towards the end.

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When the rain poured down I ran to a seafront shelter. You were already there. I thought you were a resident Of a local old people's home. I looked over towards you and nodded. I expected someone to come for you But no one came, and time passed. The rain offered no respite. I looked at you again, and saw The carrier bags at your feet. I bought you some food And made some calls. But still no-one came. Everyone already knew you were there. No hotel or B&B would take you. You told me your story As SUVs drove by. On my birthday All I could be was half A Samaritan. I stayed until dusk. The next day I was told That you had moved on.

Just before evening The waves Engulfed hope, In the salty air. I watched the birds above And felt the chill falling.

The night after you passed away, I dreamt that the telephone rang. When I answered, I heard two distant female voices talking. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but their tone was earnest and urgent. Then I heard pips, and the phone went dead. On holiday as a child in the 1970s, my mum would call home to my grandmother most evenings, from whichever caravan site we were staying at. I always used to go with her when she made the call. Once, when my mum tried to call home, she dialled the wrong number, and put the phone down as soon as she realised her mistake. I only remembered this when I awoke from my dream.

In this town, I lose my way more than once. Until there is nothing To lose. I walk. I shelter. With others who do not speak And I do not speak to. Steel cuts through the sky. I breathe in the rain, Now frequent In inevitability. I find the old pier By accident In fire charred Ashes of innocence. Consumed by the shrieks Of its fairground past. I try to climb higher, To get a better view, Hoping that sublimity Will transfigure, But the stench of Gaslight overwhelms. The sea cannot Heal these wounds.

Already you are drifting Too far away Behind a shimmer Of black and gold When I close my eyes To reach you. So when The morning of My birthday arrives I decide to make The journey To wander through The colours of my past. And ask the sea To find you once more.

Mist covers everything I know How did I get here? My name matters not. I am unacknowledged. I stay awake Through the night. Until dawn, Looking for a home.

Come away with me, oh human child, to the waters and the wild, with a fairy, hand in hand, for the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. W B Yeats

Shivering out of the water, Between oceans I used to wait, Wondering if hope would become Stronger or weaker. But no longer. Now I stay on dry land, and The waves don't pull me under.

Perhaps it is Too late For the hope Of summer When half a Lifetime divides. Memories sparkle In the sun only From a distance. Nonetheless, The heart Still yearns. But now the day Is fading.