Claustrophobe Poems | Examples

A Day In Arcadia

You leave the car at what was once, 
in old reality, a farm and where the
National Trust democratise so now not cows 
but parking motorists feel alarm.

Across a road are loos, ex milking parlours 
still with “stools” and piss 
as folk make moves to 

an archway leading to a long curved lane 
edged with a guard of reeds that, 
while obstructing the view ahead
incite its anticipation. 

Conducting the children, we lead them 
to where the pathway fairs into the beach 
framed by those stalks high reach 
from their rooting in Arcadia.

Some fresh reality as we quicken pace 
through that narrow place into entrancement,
a shout of elements where the claustrophobe 
of routines in small spaces erodes into the 
expansive sunbed of yielding pearl toned grains. 

Here we claim our place below a trope of 
salt drenched thrift and campion sea slopes 
barricading us from the insomnious land breeze 
that keeps conscious plain life.