Wandering the wild shore among the dunes
The sunset colored the peaks in glowing gold
In the shaded purple folds, gray gnarled driftwood was strewn
In anticipation of the moon I strolled
I love the cold white light of a waxing moon
A heavenly body my path to unfold
To illuminate foot prints where they were strewn
Alone with dunes and beach by me patrolled
From atop the sand dune a moonlit lagoon
The V shaped ripples from water fowl, look, behold
The surface like molten glass behind the loons
Man, cannot dominate that which I behold
Some come on coaches,
Some come in car,
Some travel short distance,
Some travel far.
This seaside town,
Where they come on their trips,
A walk on the beach,
And eat fish n chips.
Amusement arcade some may go,
Sit there for ages playing prize bingo.
Some will spend time,
On the pier fishing,
Lots will lie on the beach,
Just quietly wishing!
Ice cream being sold,
Like it’s going out of fashion,
Others book hotels,
For the odd night of passion!
Occasional boat trips,
Going out to sea,
There are always plenty of cafes,
Where you can have a nice cup of tea!
Some will be there to soak up the rays
Whilst others will quite simply,
Just come fut day!
To breathe in that sea air,
That’s the bit I like most,
There’s nothing quite like,
A trip to the coast!
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
Most of the other children
but Benny was with her
most of the time.
to where she was sitting
in a wheelchair
on the lawn.
Once he was beside her
to go see the sea Kid
is the coast clear?
Are the penguins about?
Benny looked back
towards the nursing home
other kids were on the lawn
some on the slide and swings
but no nun was in sight
as far as he could see.
No penguins about
Good right push me
through the avenue of trees
and through the back gate
Benny took a last look
back towards the nursing home
and once he was sure
no nuns were about
he pushed the wheelchair
the avenue of trees
and out the back gate
and along the path
which ran by the beach.
See that sea Kid
smell that air
the fucking salt
gets to me
Benny pushed her
along the path
at the beach and sea
and gulls above them.
He felt the wheelchair
go along easily
on the path
he gave a little laugh.
Yesterday is a waste. Tomorrow is a haste.
Today is all there is, and it's the last of them
I am a lost girl, overlooking dimensionless depths
The sea sings it's subtle songs,
The sky bleeds blues into oranges, reds into purples
And the cirrus clouds streak the sky like scars
Evening embers tinge the edge of existence
Reality retreating into it's final resting place
Tainted flower of fragile fights well fought
A lost girl, staring at the shining sun of sorrow
Knowing full well there is no tomorrow
Here they come to seek a symbol
of seaside sun - a cruise ship
castaway, beached,rain stained,
landlubbers hamock and griddle.
But first they collapse me and curse me.
Doing it properly should be
part of their curriculum vitae,
a test of nationality.
Then I'm candy flossed, ice creamed, Blackpool
rocked, salted and crisped, generally stuffed,
while they lie back, roast and relax.
Good job it's not a nudist beach.
Tilly and I
got a bus
to the seaside;
it was her week off
and I was off
for the day.
Did your mother asked
where you were going?
I said I was going
to the seaside
for the day
with a friend,
a lie that way.
but if she knew
she'd blow her top,
Best she doesn't
find out then,
the passing scenery
from the bus window.
When we got
to the seaside
we got off the bus
and went down
to the beach
and lay down
looking at the sea
and the waves
rushing up the sand.
Shame we can't
get a room here
for the week,
we could make love
as often as
we liked then.
Your mother would
if you were here
for a week
in a b&b;
with a friend,
Yes she would,
she'd be down here
on the next bus
searching for me,
going to the b&b;
I would have to tell her
and see who I was with.
We lay there
then got up
and off to get
a bite to eat
at some cheap cafe,
we would do
for the rest of the day.
Noun: the realisation that each random passer-by is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.
To wander, to wonder
To witness, to watch
The crinkle of dimples
Among freckles, a notch
Beneath the shore, a clandestine town
Under the surface, obliteration of frown
A tiny cottage, scattered items strewn here and there
Clumsiness, carefree, apologies found nowhere
Clothes, discarded on the kitchen table, engulfed
The aroma of sea water, present, the ghost
Of halcyon days, crimson wisps of hair
Warm her almost as much as the swift, English air
Sand which sleeps among waves and the footprints of thousands
Inhabited by vessels graced with memories of horizons
Fingertips gently trace the letters engraved in the wood
The ornate, curled endings holding pieces of childhood
A place where mermaids lurk deep beneath the shore
Their fins incandescent in the sun, found only by those who roam hour upon hour
A place in which she had imagined herself living,
Alongside a girl whose eyes held such depth you could almost see the mermaids swimming
Lost in streams of sea salt which trickle down her cheek
During times of joy, the kind of laughter that makes you weak
Her footsteps traipse old, rickety stairs, leading to an attic room
The presence of hundreds of lives touched in the same way, displace her gloom
She can almost hear their murmurs lost between the floorboards,
Almost catch between her lips, enchanted whispers hidden in the pages of novels
Cracked spines, diminished covers
Words which will belong differently to others
Cupboards reveal suitcases full to the brim
With pieces of paper, frail, you dare not touch, in light so dim
An array of colours, igniting the pages, conveying their care
Across the room lays the hardened, abandoned paint that put them there
Fragmented, they lay, the thoughts in her mind
Items intentionally buried away, beneath grains of sand that prove impossible to leave behind
Yet her mind, it reels, the chain of an anchor
Internal compass alive, arrows pointing in directions from her
Freedom, is limitless
So she smiles at passers-by who would go unnoticed in her home town
And they return the smile, the crinkle of dimples, obliteration of frown
For the first time she wishes to discover the pages they’ve touched, and hidden away
And when I look at her, I witness her watching them
Wandering and wondering, with sonder in her freckles, wishing that they’d stay.