Park Bench Tales and other writings

Thoughts and writings reflecting the poet within and the activist

Waves lapping at the shore

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Waves lapping at the shore

Where the ghosts of smugglers still roam in tunnels undiscovered

The fragrance of their contraband trapped in the stillness of the air

Beneath the unmarked grave lies a story yet to be recovered

Where turf was lifted then replaced before the dawn with care

Perhaps those tales are of a past best left to remain uncovered

For there were those who turned to the wall to avoid the stare

Upon the darkest nights the moon again hides her face

There is no lantern swinging to guide away from rocks

The boat no longer filled with brandy casks or finest foreign lace

A path beyond the cove is now a refuge for different flocks

Bodies disembark upon the shingle beach and embrace

There are no excise men and villagers no longer fear the knocks

This landing upon a foreign shore now marks a journey’s end

Life-jackets are discarded as tired figures clamber up the slope

Fleeing danger and peril that many find hard to comprehend

Now they seek a future on these shores looking to us with hope

Their tragedy and needs so clear and yet they seem to offend

Where is the compassion and empathy faith should evoke

Now people are the pawns forming the smugglers’ contraband

Each day the boats are launched each day there are more

They are the jetsam of dictatorship we pretend not to understand

Look at their suffering then tell me why we slam shut the door

See how their faces are alight with joy as they tread the sand

Yet hope comes then recedes like the waves lapping at the shore

Copyright: David Hopcroft March 2023


Author: davidjhopcroft

Former learning centre manager at a state college in Florida now living in England and enjoying the wonderful scenery close to the Pennines and the Lake District

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