Along the Spit

Windblown twine hangs from rusting stakes
Marking stretches of shingle
and sea kale
Around al fresco nesting grounds

Ringed plovers, curlews, terns
Pipers all, greet dusk and dawn
Plaintive whistling cutting through
The worst the North Sea hurls ashore

But there’s nothing sweet
To be heard
Not breakers
Not ascending larks
When jet fighters’ shadows are cast

~

n.b. NaPoWriMo 2025 Day 23. The RAF base at Marsham sends out F35b jets on patrol several days a week. Laughingly described as stealth fighters, their engine noise is all consuming, bone shaking, tooth loosening, (add your own adjectives here). Their motto ‘Deter’ is almost poetic, their sonic ‘footprint’ along the beach far from musical. 

CLP 23/04/2025