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.