On Plymouth Hoe

Graphic by Steve Wheeler

above, the pale clouds pass on by 

while the gulls insistently cry 

and gazing south the wilder sea 

is tamed by dark breakwater 

and the calmer tamar mouth 

the sea salt wind is calling me 

whenever I go 

to the plymouth hoe 

the smeaton tower lined 

red and white 

pointing skyward 

glimmering in the fading light 

for decades past 

a welcoming sight 

for plymouth folk 

returning homeward 

where the sea winds blow 

up on the plymouth hoe 

the grand hotel 

its fronted palisades 

of weathered white and grey 

the wedding cake 

and the bronze of drake 

their lustre now fast fades 

and the tinside lido 

rust over paint plays 

all remnants of the glory days 

and all we know 

of the plymouth hoe 

above and left 

the staddon heights 

mount edgecumbe 

 looming on the right 

drake’s island holds 

the centre ground 

dominating the heart 

of the sound 

and all around 

the currents flow 

and the sea winds blow 

across the plymouth hoe 

Steve Wheeler © 2 September, 2020

This poem was first published in Urban Voices by Steve Wheeler, Wheelsong Books, 2020.