Poem: Struck By An Urge to Live in Brighton

A Melbourne poem

Photo by Ronnie George on Unsplash

North Road envelopes me in a cloak of leaves.

I slow, and catch glimpses of noble houses.

They draw me with their peace of age,

settled in quiet grandeur,

intrinsic to the oaks and lush green lawns.

I imagine polished boards, a ticking clock,

sweeping stairs and hidden rooms –

but then the street has passed

and I am into a different dream.

Late afternoon sun burnishes the waves

a silver slate, the water

bounds and falls across the sand

alive with rough relentless rhythm

indifferent to the colored sails

which skim and swoop.

Houses here have acres of glass

and lofty perches to spy on the sea.

Up that high, there would be no Beach Road,

just the moods of the ocean

and my horizons.

Photo by Rhys Kentish on Unsplash