The Fylde Coast | Poetry

The Fylde Coast

by Rod Butterworth, Rochdale

From Fleetwood and Cleveleys, from Blackpool’s loud cry,
Follow the Fylde Coast down the line of its shore,
From a town that explodes with all that excites
And echoes its pleasures with an unashamed roar.

Go south from this vibrating, all-moving Mecca
From the noise and the screams on the pleasure ground rides
In exchange for the screams of the gulls on the shore
As they forage for food left by fast ebbing tides.

St Annes-on-Sea is a much quieter venue,
A peaceful retreat by the sea and the dunes
Where sea grasses bend to a fresh salty breeze
Producing hum that is nature’s own tune.

It is here, the Fylde’s menu tastefully changes,
A much-needed respite from Blackpool’s spiced fix,
Like the main course for dinner and then the dessert
They complement each other in a satisfying mix.

Like Blackpool. St Annes in a different way
Entertains any age with enough going on,
Whether golfing or walking or just people-watching,
Or perhaps nodding off on a seat on the prom.

You can follow the geese down to Fairhaven Lake
Past the dunes of St Annes a short way further south,
And to Lytham, its sister town, unspoiled and sedate
On the curve of the shore at the Ribble’s wide mouth.

On ‘The Green’ stands the windmill, on guard it would seem,
As the Irish Sea winds blow in the wild calls
From the estuary, of waders following the tide,
And their clamour is heard up to old Lytham hall.

I have memories I cherish and some in the making.
Each year I return as so many folk do,
The people, the sea, the sounds of the Fylde coast.
Have given me pleasure and are waiting for you.

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