Suddenly, two orange delta kites

with multi-coloured tails, rise above

the families on the beach – looping the loop,

separately, together, flying

in parallel, swooping, soaring, the air

thrumming like a drum roll against the fabric –

flown faultlessly by an elderly man

with glasses, tee-shirt, shorts, dark socks, trainers

and a baseball cap. A woman, distracting

an infant, points to the skies – otherwise

no one else seems to have seen something amazing:

a grandma fetches ice creams; a youth

in lycra is texting; a small girl in pink

continues her digging.




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  1. #1 by John Huddart - September 2nd, 2013 at 22:02

    Who can deny that there is something special going on here? A poem about hopes, exhilaration, isolation, generations, absorption, skill, indifference. Ice creams are a reward, and the air produces that telling reverberation of applause.

    Somehow that reference to digging at the end produces a ghostly image of Heaney which I find ironic, engaging and somehow, in the circumstances, poignant.

  2. #2 by KIT - September 8th, 2013 at 19:03

    The span of ages, enough sense of place so I am there – a poem to treasure and share.

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