Sat here on Mick's seat (on the Spanish Battery, Tynemouth)

I look towards the pier, see crowds of people walking;

Two lovers on the beach below, holding hands and talking;

Ships far out at sea, waves gentle as can be –

The only sounds the sounds of seagulls squawking.

No place I’d rather be than sat here on Mick’s seat,

On a sunny summer afternoon resting tired feet,

Watching ships and boats sail out and sail back in again,

Far from busy, hustling, bustling city centre streets.

To a ship heading my way in the distance

There’s hardly any wind at all putting up resistance.

A warm North Sea breeze laps around my knees –

The elements in peaceful co-existence.

Boatsmen sail their dinghies back into the harbour,

Tacking and turning as in a dance macabre;

Gracefully they glide, in slowly rolls the tide

All the way to Wylam from the harbour.

No place I’d rather be than sat here on Mick’s seat,

On a sunny summer afternoon resting tired feet,

Watching ships and boats sail out and sail back in again,

Far from busy, hustling, bustling city centre streets.