In October 2021 we shared our last workshop with Anthony Costello. After writing this poem we talked about how important a title can be. In this poem, without the title it is simply a travelog. Add the title “Dear Life” and a completely different piece emerges.
Driving North it is well hidden,
Until that final bend in the road
Where it dominates the view.
The Angel of the North.
Ugly slab of rusting metal
Or iconic, beautiful sculpture.
After all these years I still can’t decide which
That simple act of driving past
Takes us North,
The Holy Island of Lindisfarne.
Here our dreams are met
In serenity, beauty, solitude.
For Northumbria is yet to be discovered,
Even through the pandemic,
By the Ibiza crowd.
Seals sing at Seahouses.
Buntings bathe at Bamborough,
Home of the famous Bamborough Banger,
Smoked, like the Craster kippers
And the Swallow Fish prawns.
The Angel, going North
A beacon for happiness,
Relaxation, rest, peace.
A week later
We travel South.
Southward, The Angel is visible
From a distance.
Growing reminder of the return
To daily tasks.
Paying bills mending ills.
Does The Angel frown as we pass,
That smooth, expressionless face
Above the monoplane wings
The car climbs the hill
The Angel disappears
Until the next time
The Angel smiles again.
©Ray Stearn 7th October 2021