I read somewhere that cities such as Bath and Oxford borrow from the light from the sun in the morning and returns it with a great gratitude as the evening draws in

But what of Margate

It is a town of many buildings some quite lovely but none can be called outstanding as is the case in the former cities

Margate has a highly decorated clock raised in Victorian times which is at the point of two separating roads

It not a town of great universities or of carefree students in pretty frocks and bright cravats

I own a Folkestone Burgundy but do not wear it on the streets of Margate

As there is something wrong so very wrong about cravats in these days of casual attire

The beach is I am told of imported sand which stretches deep from the sea shelter to the white terrace

An art gallery modern in design stands where the artist used to lodge and how fresh it looks

The town although improving still has an air of neglect of past splendours totally unloved

No longer do the boarding houses and bed and breakfasts hold majesty

They have been replaced by scruffy people who live in scruffy flats offensive to the eye

But not all is lost as cafes small and chic are springing up in the old town

Along with pastel bookshops in shady squares

That are open to curious architectures

Almost hidden at the height of trees

I am in the half light and reading a book of haiku

On a memorial bench much weathered

The Moon and the Pines 

How beautiful and simple this poetry is

God loves Margate and is rumoured to live there in a small flat above a record shop

He has gifted this coastal town a light that is the equal of Venice

The artist Turner noted this as have many others including writers and poets

From the first ray of the day to the last evening ray this light is simply stunning

High White

Wide Blue

Rich Crimsons

Cool Green

Savage Golds

All the colours of heaven are present

In the skies above Margate