the ghost pier

The ghosts and ghouls swish through struts

Made of metal rusted with the homely age

Of Whitby wind and sea salt sting,

A million memories from the days of sailing ships

And ladies, promenading with parasols

Long gone, but apparitions still remain

Underneath the angry, rolling clouds.

america’s most haunted

When it’s late, and I’m too tired to take in anything that’s particularly scholarly, I sometimes like to just sit and watch those programmes