View From A Bournemouth Hotel Window Poem by Martin Ward

View from a Bournemouth Hotel Window

Like blue lemonade:
the sun just caught it right.
Wavelets that sparkled
with bubbles,
popping on the surface.

I watched the seagulls
from my eerie
overlooking the bay,
and listen to
their laughing,
choking calls.

A powerboat cut the surface
of the half-distant sea,
near a small yacht
which respected
the sanctity
of the moment.

Far off, beyond the ability
of good long-distance sight,
a vessel of mariner usage,
does whatever it does.

People perambulate
the promenade:
work or pleasure,
on a warm summer's day.

I could have let
the moment melt
into a half-remembered
pleasantry,
but made the effort
to search
for my notebook
and pen.