Seagulls gyre – wocker-challing and crocker-calling,
skiffer-wheeling, wind-kiting and hoarse-calling
keer-wails into a bluster-buffet, ear-sharked, eye-grit gale,
blowing smithereens out of the sea wall,
the surf and the pebbles that make up the beach,
grind-clockering and ratter-schacketling back and forth,
to and fro in weather’s storm-force mayhem.
In the air gulls cry caw once more,
twitching wings to soar, scud and chaos-wheel
in their noise-gyre – set against dim clouds
as sun sinks and steam rises from my mug,
creating window fog, warm and safe in my café by the sea.