Poem: The River Medway

This is a poem that I wrote about the river Medway, which runs through Kent and finishes in the North Sea. I work just beside the river, in Maidstone, where it runs through from Tonbridge up to Chatham.


The river can be very murky at times, not particularly inviting, but does harbour a lot of wildlife, and is very beautiful to look at all year around.


I have used some surreal moments to try to capture some imagery, I hope that you like it.


The River Medway

The River Medway runs silently, like a snake chasing an iguana.

It slops gently through the town, harshly lit and woefully dark in the same instance;

A river of slime, murky brown at the best of times; nature’s cesspit lavatory.

Gulls squawk incessantly, itching for scraps of food laid waste by human extravagance.

On the river, ducks float, laughing like hyenas in the gloom of the winter sun, diving in and out

Of the muddy water, spending the day going backwards and forwards.

Backwards and forwards.

The pace is soft as traffic roars past and over the bridge. Years have floated by while the river stood and watched a metropolis rise.

From the sea through the garden of England, it swims by without a glance, meandering by,

Like a piece of silk falling through the air.

Bobbing up and down, geese allow the tide to take them on another journey, into the unknown, into

A known place. Backwards and forwards.

Backwards and forwards.

Burnt leaves follow through on the tide, detached in Maidstone and succumbed in Chatham; nature takes each season with a punch.

And while people hastily glide by; cars trample over the maddening tarmac; horns blast and anger builds, the river continues to move.

Never sleeping, always swaying to its rhythm. Gliding from town to town, through village and hamlet, past warmed dwellings and postcard gardens.

Never sleeping; backwards and forward.

Backwards and forwards.