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Whitley bay

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The moon has left it's balcony
to be replaced by a mermaid watching tides
sculpt cliffs.
Visitors to long sands beach are transfigured
briefly, a promontory forms in the mind for
future reflections. The lighthouse is like a pen
lit by light echoing as it warns spirits of new
arrivals, children who see with pearls pf pure
sight. Tide reaches the shore a page is turned
old seaman share story's, a cache of pearls
on a promontory.  
Clouds are like postcards that never reach
there destination, the sky listens to conversations
of people on the beach, their lives sawn in half,
the stunning wonder of the bay and the journey home
after having walked across clouds and photographs
of the day. Spirits hear stories of the living linger in
shells, clouds pass over those dreaming about
Whitley bay and the soundless sea.

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"pearls of pure sight"



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