He saw a gap in the market,
Knew he'd found a niche
Got the idea at Scarborough
From donkey rides on the beach.
Camel treks from Whitby
Going the scenic way
Following the coastal road
On to Robin Hood's Bay.
The very place where, if
Local legend had it right,
Mr Hood and the Vikings
Had a very dirty fight.
He advertised on the Internet
Pretty sure there would be
A plethora of investors
All as Foresighted as he.
He checked his e mail hourly,
Couldn't understand why
After forty three days
Not received a single reply.
He sent the camels back to Qatar
After a very drastic rethink
Then devoted his life to
The Pursuit of strong drink.
You can find him by Donny station
A sight to make you weep
As he rattles his tin can
Begging for his keep.
There's a moral to this story.
Always look for the hitch:
Though better than the alternative,
Life at times can be a bloody .
Categories:
whitby, animal, business, humor, motivation,
Form: Rhyme
I puffed and panted up the steps (and thought
about the novel Dracula, in which
the character called Mina ran up there)
and gasping, wheezing crawled towards the top
to look out over Whitby from the cliff.
The view was simply beautiful, I found -
enough to take one's breath away (but I
was breathless as it was, and so I tried
to catch my breath!) I didn't want to think
about the trek that faced me as I left
to walk back down those steps...
Remembering a visit to Whitby & climbing the famous 199 steps
written 6th January for Constance's B 'Breathless' blank verse contest
Categories:
whitby, beauty,
Form: Blank verse
I remember all the humorous things we did
Peering into windows lit by lamps
Climbing cliffs then chased by geese and dog
Walking down from Redcar,sea so still
After Saltburn Pier, the cliffs high jump
I remember all the funny things we did
Wandering Whitby in a sea grey smog
Eating a pork pie cut into lumps
Climbing cliffs then chased by geese and dog
Old Hunstanton ,white sands where we’d sit
The wild spikes of the gorse spread out unclamped
I remember all the colours,scents and that
I feel the joy inside my heart is lit
Woe is leavened by old nature’s stamp
Climbing high then chased through mud by dogs
We see in shadows shades are not so stark
In Studland Bay astonished by skylarks
I remember all the humour and the love
Climbing cliffs then caught by geese and God
Categories:
whitby, allusion, creation, humor, nature,
Form: Villanelle
whitby jet
monkey puzzle tree
ebony
4/ 28/ 2018
Categories:
whitby, tree,
Form: Haiku
GOTH GIRL
Sitting beside two Goth girls;
Black hair, black clothes,
Black eyelashes,
silver studs in the knee-length boots,
pale daughters-of-Dracula complexions.
I could be in Whitby for a Goth convention,
standing on a crag
looking out on the cold North sea,
but I'm having a coffee break
from learning Swedish,
and the blonde thread running
through my thoughts
has been momentarily lost,
a shadow darkens the sun.
Sneaking a glance at her chill loveliness;
no fangs or love bite from the master
blemish her ivory neck,
and I laugh behind my newspaper,
laugh at the adult restraint
I have to honour,
laugh at the sentence,
Welcome to my castle!
She turns to look my way
but I have to get going
- Age before Beauty -
before the light of those eyes
makes me break
my thousand-year silence.
Categories:
whitby, humor,
Form: Blank verse
Deep in the mud, **** and blood,
Hidden behind pastures of razor wire,
A lonely baker writes home.
"My dearest girl, im doing good,
But it's getting colder, were low on food.
I don't intend on dying, but if I do,
Don't think about me here on the line,
I don't want that playing on your mind.
Imagine us together holding hands,
WalKing in Whitby along the sand.
With every passing breeze I'll always be there.
When the sun illuminates your rich auburn hair.
I'm sorry my dear, but now I must go,
Those bastards Germans want a show.
I won't be home by Christmas.
They lied. "
The letter she received said,
"he fought with courage,
He fought with strength.
He sacrificed himself for his fellow trench mates.
You should be proud"
Categories:
whitby, military, war,
Form: I do not know?
The moon reflected on the sea,
A night more beautiful than day.
I wheezed and struggled up the steps
And looked out over Whitby Bay.
I saw the harbour far below,
And heard the splashing of the waves,
I turned around to see the church,
The ruined abbey and the graves.
I thought of Dracula, the Count,
Imagined him and Lucy there,
And then I saw a hulking shape -
But, oh, the menace in that glare.
He showed his fangs and hissed at me;
My feet were rooted to the spot.
I cried for help and waved my arms
At people on a distant yacht.
He lunged and bit into my neck;
I tried to fight but felt so weak.
And that is how I came to die -
And you’re the prey I need to seek…
for Darren's Bram Stoker contest
Categories:
whitby, fantasy,
Form: Rhyme
High winds - stirring sea - surf pounds - Whitby beach
Storm clouds - residual - seagulls - frantic cry
Midnight - a figure - in view - ascending
Bowed down - wearily - cliff steps - Abbey bound
Skywards - waning moon - purple - in streaking
Figure - looking down - last time - hesitates
Cliffside - beckoning - then moves - in seeing
A flash - lightening - from grave - arising
Hungry - Dracula - no escape - figure froze
Exposed - vulnerable - a scream - was stifled
No-one - witnessing - horror - stricken face
Could, would - testify - to what - next took place.
Categories:
whitby, character, horror,
Form: Free verse
Count Dracula a haunting figure, through centuries alike
desending on Whitby,an eerly thought, also a shuddering fright
between my hometown Middlesbrough, and the seaside port
the 199 steps to the abbey dwells a frightening thought
Holidaying in Whitby, many times in our youth
the tails of the night stalker,petrifyingly uncoath
tucked up at night, a feeling of surreal
Dracula would hound the streets, lives for the steal
Preying on the vulnerable,gaining all their trust
attacking unexpectedly,for blood that is a must
his black cloak, gaunt profile,terrifying vitality
protruding teeth over over ruddy lips, so remarkably
The Transalvanian terroriser, 400 years ago
puncturing the necks of ladies,blood does slowly flow
evidently the Count,his resting place Whitby Abbey
1000`s do attend each year, a gothic ceremony.
1st in contest.
Paul beadnall for :
Sponsor Linda-Marie The Sweetheart of P.S.
Contest Name "CREATURES" of the Night!
27/8/11
Sponsor Linda-Marie The Sweetheart of P.S.
Contest Name "MAY MAGIC" (ALL 1ST PLACE WINS)
Categories:
whitby, history,
Form: Rhyme
The Mountain withstands time the Agent Elder who once spewed an earthly inferno
Now rests quietly in peace. I climb higher holding onto tree branches covered in moss In a
rainforest where time is lost I breathe in the early morning dew that smells like cotton
candy and the Evergreens of a sugary Maple. Houdini escaped the chains of monotony, and I
did too. I was a prisoner in the confines of Whitby Plain suburbia nightmare. Cookie
cutter homes and the middle class daily life.
I wouldn’t fit in next to a water looking down on everyone else. I almost lost my edge… a
shadow version of myself. My Light My confidence to shout out and sing had almost gone out
Peering down into the Glacier lake. On top of my mountainous escape into the looking glass
surface I am overjoyed and see the sadness of my trapped heart dissipate
Categories:
whitby, art, lifelost, lost, time,
Form: I do not know?
I wonder if your children rise at night
And haunt the shadows with your name
I wonder if memory would take flight
Were you now as then the cuddled same
How did you come to me the first time
What did we say to start the flame
Our romance fell apart in its sweet prime
But O I love you then, just the same
Not deep enough to fast for food or sleep
Not strong enough to yield a diamond tear
Not angry enough to find a cliff and leap
You were special, but not to me most dear
So what then this feeling I cannot shake
Since your sudden death to me was told
No guilt could make me as stars keep wake
For that which was nobody's gold
Yet, my dear, you were always something
Much better than the best of us, a gem
We did not know the value of, no king
Was finish in rule ... no rose without a stem
You were the silent part that value brought
To longing, weary, harried hearts
The butterfly in death's destroying net caught
The light that pious prism distorts
Farewell, Royna, I pray your quest for happiness
Will make us meet again ... beyond this vale
Of callousness ... in brighter verdant plain. Rest
In your little while ... God's meries never fail.
Categories:
whitby, sadme, me, i love
Form: Quatrain