Turner’s Tate/Future’s Fate

I, Turner,
Brushstroke-caresser of light and shade,
Murk-summoner of depth and fade,
Shall awash this scene with blues and greys,
Stillness paint and movement praise. 

I, Coleridge,
Quill-feather-albatross-weaver,
Xanadu-dreamer of pleasuredome-teaser,
Shall conjure this scene with commoner-labour,
Blood-sweating fisher-folk, love of thy neighbour.

I, Onion,
Collective-creative of life-minded soul-food,
Gatherer-hugger of artists, of lift-mood, 
Shall build on the scene that you both have created,
Feed appetites for change; Turner's Tate, Futures-fated.

I,
Wellness-walker of England's coastpath,
Observer-conserver of history's 'math,
Shall tread lightly through time, for pleasure, with grace,
For here is the power, of poetry, place.


A Wensley
23.11.2022

A poem inspired by the view of East Quay from Watchet's Victorian Pleasuregrounds