grains of sand
between two slices of bread
blackberry juice boxes and orange dilute
a gloop of oily sun-block
a scent of petrol, coconut, ice-cream
and nothing but pastel blue
a canary yellow body-board
dropped in above my knees
my mother tugging it along
goading me towards the deep
I cling to it til she snaps it from me
I'm pulled underneath
limbs thrashing, lungs gasping
the shock of being afloat
was how I learned to swim in the Maharees
on sandy Fahamore
under Brandon mountain peak
in city park a crow laughs,
while a girl scatters
rhinestones and crumbs.
the bird hops childlike
over the warm cement,
from his beak.
a frowning man
at the bus stop
probes the folds
of his wallet
for a bus token.
She gnawed at his flesh
She clawed at his skin
To fulfill her filthy sin
All this displayed
All of her hate
He wore on his face
And in the evening
After the bleeding
Pass the bruising
He’d sniff and snuffle
His body would crumble
With all of the despair in my heart
He was told to remember
As His will was dismembered
And His spirits were crushed to the ground
This was all your own doing
Even though she was stewing
No fault of hers will ever be found
The Japanese Current
Flows through my veins-
Father of undertow
Feeder of the clam beds
The smooth edges
Of Summer and Autumn
Stranger to Southern beaches
The current creates
Weather of it’s own
And plays rough at it’s mildest.
I watch as the tow
Sweeps away my sandy footing.
How fast I can move
Is how fast I survive.
Don’t turn your back
On the Japanese Current
Mercy isn’t floating in that tide
And it will knock you down.
You can wade into the freezing waves
But only a fool would try to swim.
Nothing for Michael Phelps here
Unless he excels with a shovel.
From little motor court cabins
With linoleum floors
And sand in the corners
We’d pile out in the dark
At four A.M. low tides
Slender shovels in our hands
We braved the gales
That would be banned in Maui
Gifting us with glorious misery.
Wind whipping scarves and hair
And sneaking through the jackets
That didn’t really shield us
From the sideways blowing rain
That couldn’t wash away our smiles.
We’d stomp the sand and look for bubbles
Dig for all we’re worth - plunge a hand
Into the hole collapsing
To grope for the illusive razor clam -
Treasure of the Northwest beaches.
Special treat for seafood lovers
Fried, or ground or cooked in stew
They seemed like sliced up innertubes to me
My fun was in the finding and the digging
The cleaning was my dad, the frying was my mom
And not eating them was me.
LONG BEACH WASHINGTON
World’s longest unbroken sandy beach
Twenty-eight miles of solid sand
Bring your car, ride your horse or bike
Cut christies in the hard packed sand.
Splash along the edges of the waves
Race with no red lights behind you.
Just watch the turning of the tide
Or boys with jeeps will have to pull you out
(Impossibly heroic idols of
My childhood beach adventures.)
And yet sometimes the sun came out-
Oh rarest gift from Mother Nature
We wandered below the kite filled skies
And sandy castle festivals.
We hid both sorrows and often and joys
And sometime hanky panky
Among the sea grass covered hillocks
That roll like the boil of a bubbling kettle
Between the sand and civilization.
It’s still there, almost unmarred
By glitzy boardwalks and sunglass shacks
Just as I remember it, what seems an eon later
Familiar things at every turn
Small thing tell me that my world abides
And I’m not really home until I’m there.
He watches as others grin
He watches another kid
Commit his first "sin"
It's his turn
He's sweaty and drunk
Defined as a troubled child
Labeled a punk
So he thrives on this
The smell of beer
Tastes like piss
Another story to tell his "friends"
He thought it was love
Was there something he missed
A dash of regret
The moment was over
With a drop of sweat. -X.Arnold.
I was raised in a family
with a background rather humble
never having lots of money
happy though so mustn't grumble
Early years spent practicing reticence
manifesting in a rumbling mumble
speaking to adults particularly problematic
over my words I would regularly stumble
High school was my teenage nadir
year on year confidence would tumble
on darkest days solace was sought
in my mother's comforting apple crumble
Whether underground or overground
mixing with every type of ensemble
consolation was found every night
by remembering I wasn't a Womble
There wasn't enough for everyone.
Be it food or love, or happiness...
Someone always had get it on their own.
And that's how i grew up...
Loving, but not.
The only thing worth beliving in was
Something you yourself previously got.
'Cause what's yours no one can take.
And with all you have,
Which isn't much!
Being at stake... make no mistake.
They'll come for it.
She always wanted to be
as famous as
Bawling dramatically in the cornfield.
My flip flops stuck
in the oozy mud
as I followed her for safety.
She sobbed on my shoulder during Titanic because she wasn't as beautiful
as Kate Winslet.
The rest of the cinema
gave me funny looks.
everyone necks craning to listen
to my therapy phrases.
"Sshhh. It's okay.
You're beautiful in a different way".
I never told her that lipstick didn't suit her.
And she still wears it now