Sea View Luxury Retirement Apartments


We have so much to be so grateful for:
another day is passing, after another day
of sitting looking out through the window,
and it is all paid for, and all is included.

There are always sailing boats adorning the view,
staked to the distance like fluttering white tents.
(The paper’s fallen onto the floor, pick it up
later; didn’t bother with lunch, not hungry.)

I can see a little blond boy on the beach, giggling
and throwing pebbles back into the sea –
for his grandfather to pretend they’re a pain to retrieve.
And there’s a man lazing on a lilo, just drifting off.

But today’s tide is so weary, the waves are tottering;
some don’t make it and drown like D-Day soldiers.
Others gasp, frothing as they crumple on the sand.
Strange, they were doing it yesterday, as well.

The sailing boats seem to have moved a little,
and yet they never appear to move an inch or
perhaps they’re not the same ones after all.
The people on the beach are up and leaving again.

Now the setting sun’s playing on our windows,
beaming our sad reflections into oblivion,
and we’ve gratefully done another day’s dying
of exquisite boredom and genteel regret.


© Nemo 2023
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A beautiful vision of hoped for perfection yet still perfection eludes. I found this poem extremely moving. Sue.


You capture the atmospherics really well in this well penned but sad tale, i thought leaving the paper was a master stroke. Well done Keith


Sounds like god’s waiting room, all that’s left is to be measured for the wooden overcoat! This poem summed up the mood well.

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