The Docks

Water glistens below the bright flower beds

Tall white buildings reflected shapes shimmering

In sepia coloured liquid lapping redundant quays

Rope fenders still clinging to the concrete walls

Iron rails sunk into the tarmac beside the quay edge

Unnoticed now by all but a handful of men.

Voices echo through the abandonned cranes

Laughing, shouting, crying, arguing

As children play in the shadows of their homes

Unmindful of the history close by.

Once, years before in this very place

Deeper voices shouted, swore, laughed and moaned

Broad backs and strong arms pushed and heaved

Cranes banged, whined, moved and whirled

Cargo loading for distant exotic unkown places

Names on the case and the checkers’ sheets

Bales, boxes, bundles, cases and casks

Discharged for the market down the road.

Dynamic energy spilt for the demands of trade.

Now faded into folk lore, remembered by few.

Flats gardens and living people in their place.

In the sky above, a lone seagull cries 

Reminded of the sounds of the docks and

Shades of long lost ships tied to bollards and

The ghostly wail of a ships whistle in the mist 

Never to return.