Sunset over Whitehawk

Brighton, UK - Nic - Wednesday, January 18th, 2006 : goo

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Sunset Over Whitehawk

The end of a darkened day and a surprise one off show.
Friday evening 4 0-clock, a startling brightness is
Cutting through the darkening sky
Reflected in windows, on top of Racecourse hill.
The sun, her face til now hidden, has awoken from sleep and
With perfect comic timing has tickled pink the brickwork
On the tower blocks at the top of Whitehawk way.

Burning them to life with her rosy sunset game
Setting them alight, pole dancers in her show.
Holding court, the Swanborough girls
Backed by the peasant self-build chorus
The finale to the week, a performance in the sky
East Brighton’s’ own private spectacular,
A free festival for all who care to look up.

The clock is ticking the flag is dropped
A flock of feathered beasts their bellies all-aglow,
Race silently towards the sea, determined to be first.
To win this airy contest above the empty racecourse auditorium
An honour lost on workers finishing their last hour
Behind the rose tinted glass of the office windows

All over Whitehawk, street lamps flicker into light.
Slender metal tapers brought to life by the fire.
Touched by the fingers of the sun
Children’s voices fill the air, a last hour of light
A last time to play, a final burst of fun
before the 4-30 curfew and darkness steals the day

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jack: nic did you write this?

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