Friday, 28 September 2018


I was at Finisterre in Spain a couple of weeks ago. My guide book informed me it was the western most point of Europe, so I walked to the lighthouse to see. I wrote this poem while I was looking at the scene.

the western most point of europe
for some people once the end of the world but not today

three coaches and sixty one cars
have disgorged the crowd that I walk into

the lighthouse is long since redundant
and not as popular as the gift shop

people clamber over the rocks
as far west as they can go

brandish selfie sticks
then smile in the camera click
It can be interesting exercise to write what you see in a new environment. I have done it on a number of occasions, this being one of them
I shall put up another next week.
The graffiti on the left hand side of this monument made me laugh.
I was listening to Midlake the other and realised that it is seven years this month since I saw them at End of The Road.
They are sorely missed, especially Tim Smith.
Until next time.

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