Brighton Poem by Jerry Pike

Seagulls or sirens? A quarter mile out
Engage the addiction, in shore, there's no doubt

Storm warnings in branches, stray terns, spin away
There are mods in the landscape for bank holiday

The nefarious walk, as for day, as for night
Through a neon strip sideshow of coin dynamite

There are campers in circuit and Cirque Surreal
Full of festival passion and voices that squeal

Every hand holds another with reasoning grip
Down a back alley Sunday, we gaily do trip

Some peers are above us, some piers are below
There's a camomile teascape and scents, is to show

Enrolling for strolling this monkey parade
With chaos day stickers on lamp post brocade

Every hat except mine on a kiss-me-quick ride
Over crisply mean haircuts and bumper car glide

Athina B anchor, slips sweet off the tongue
For an 80s sunk skipper, whose last bell had rung

The tower of Babel, falls sightless and dead,
To a stone golem funfair that rattles your head

And two steps behind him, his gene pool smiles down
There's a whole heap more Brighton, with children in town