The Art Gallery Walsall Poem by John Rickell

I felt no breeze, the day so still
few foot falls in the sand
none save two, flying a kite,
low towards the land
therir backs to me, unaware,
as they played in mild content.
An umbrella, stabbed into the beach
I left them to their game.

Walked the 'Harbur', the tide was out,
topsy-turvy boats on their sides
planks drying in the sun,
clouds gone, hot and bright.
I looked behind the kite flying high,
despite a slackening breeze,
a boy or girl(I couldn't see)
holding on the string
as we all have done
some time or another.

So the afternoon slipped by
scenes of many places
some I knew, the castle, by the sea
a woodland like my own,
exotic flowers, snowdrops,
cobbled streets in Stockholm.
cubist fantasies,
faces I'd like to meet.
A tour within a space
no more than tennis court.
‘Sunset over Mull’,
(outside the rain)
Here they shared their views
no need to travel far.
I bought the ’Mull’
walked back,
passed the kite and child
the umbrella stabbed into the sand.