Where are the children today?
They were playing in the fields just yesterday.
‘Where are they now?’ you say,
it seems they have gone somewhere else to play.

A deafening silence fills the air,
the soundtrack to a parent’s nightmare.
Maybe this is just a dream,
you didn’t even hear them scream.

The wind wails, pushing the swing,
maybe it’s trying to tell you something.
No little ones can be seen today
as the sky turns grey from the smell of decay.

Could it be everything you ever feared?
Perhaps they have just disappeared.
Maybe they’ll return for a story before bed
or maybe their clothes are stained with red.

The sun is rising but the birds don’t sing,
the absence of children is a peculiar thing.
So, where are the children today?
Maybe they have gone somewhere else to stay.

The ground beneath trembles in fear
as people realise the attack is near.
No time to pack they run towards land
fear in their eyes, a child in each hand.

The ocean drags back revealing the reef
while onlookers watch in disbelief.
A wall of white horses gallop ashore,
eager to destroy what was there before.

Screams drowned out by the roar of the beast,
charging ahead, hungry to feast.
The wave reaches out with a cold heavy hand
and snatches the palm trees from the sand.

This hand born by the stomach of the sea,
bulked by plates, coughed out, set free.
A bully of a giant fed with dread,
a tall curved spine and white froth on its head.

As the wave devours the town,
its once blue belly turns murky brown.
The further it travels the more it hunches,
snatching rooftops and throwing punches.

Where the wave passed through a carpet now lies,
lingering devastation and distant cries.
Amongst lost lives bodies are found,
homes destroyed, spirits drowned.

You hear about me,
you wait for me,
you prepare for me below,
while I sit silently and brew in the heavens above.
Innocently I start as scattered clouds smudged across the sky,
as I calmly exhale over the land.
But with each breath I fill up with frustration.
Frustration turns to anger,
anger becomes rage,
and before you know it a tantrum is born.
I batter,
I consume,
I cough out my rage.
I strip your trees bare and scream at your cat,
howling with laughter at the mess I have made.
I charge through the streets
stealing life to strengthen my own.
Tears are washed away with salted rain
you think your pain
will make me stop?
Bodies of trees lie across the roads,
hollow shells of used-to-be homes
poke their heads from the water,
scared to see the damage I have caused.
Exhaling once more I return to the sky
where I will sit and sulk
but never die.

Two worlds meet as crystal waters dance to shore, tickling powdered sand with fingers of foam. The sound evokes calming sensations, perhaps revelations, before falling silent as the wave retreats. A sailing boat strokes the surface, whistling with the wind as it carves patterns, unaware of what lies beneath. Even the sun looks on in awe, as its rays gently caress the quilt of blue, congratulating its infinity. The land above, so blissfully unaware, sits and inhales salt stained air.

Beneath the clouded sky of blue, lies the ocean’s treasure chest, a beauty born of rock and sand. It offers a glimpse into its world, for the inquisitive, stuck on land. Fish of every sort dash amongst confused hues of greens and blues, gulping salt water as if it were scarce. Angelfish dart around like horizontal fireworks, while seahorses surf the foamy riptide. The sun’s rays explore the thick meadows of seagrass, that sway in slow motion to the breeze of the current. Coral castles cemented in the sand curiously poke their turrets out of the water, causing waves to trip and fall and spill their froth. This is the ocean’s natural aquarium, yet mankind still invade the shallows with camera lenses and alert senses, attempting to prove they can figure it out.  

The sea becomes weary, tired of showing off. With its final yawn, it exhales out one last chunk of rock before it falls into a deep, cold slumber. The fresh palette of turquoise has faded into shades of murky blue as the ocean’s belly is revealed. The sun, now desperately trying to reach its rays towards darkened depths, is now just a golden haze, unable to offer any warmth. On one side stands a wall of coral, tarnished with colour, hypnotising life so it does not stray. The other offers an unconscious abyss, frightening to the wary, tempting to the brave.

The deep proves uncharitable to navigation, yet it’s muffled moans still encourage exploration. Faint whispers echo and fade, carried by indecisive currents. Now too deep for the day’s light to intrude, creatures below must brighten their own paths; fish with fangs carry glowing white pearls from their heads, while faceless ***** drag strings of electricity from their pulsing pink bodies. A lone whale glides by in her watery flight, her haunting lullaby becoming lost in the great Somewhere, accompanying the secrets that stay sealed beneath the blue.

A parrot, clothed in a robe of red,
sits and stares and admires the view;
A canvas of blue, untainted by cloud,
illuminated by life below.
A slight breeze bends the droplet shaped leaves
to stick out their noses and praise the sky,
some point fingers towards the parrot,
preoccupied with the scene.
Slender green snakes engulf the plants,
that take their slumber on the jungle bed,
while pointed leaves,
stiff and straight,
stand like cardboard props.
A monkey perches under a fruit crowned bush,
it’s brother watching in scorn.
Tempted like Eve, he plucks an orange from the tree
and cradles its belly, swollen and ripe.
Below,
a leafy cage swallows those who disobey,
observed by the guard in his uniform of blue.
Above, pink flowers
held up by tangled arms,
soak up the last of the dying flames,
as the sun is extinguished by the canopy.
Tropical torches flicker blue and white
playing hide and seek within dense undergrowth,
while the parrot still sits and admires the view,
amongst changing shades of green.

In Grandma’s garden,
the sun has swum to the middle of the sky,
and sits amongst smudges of white.
Relaxing, its breathes heat onto the grass,
which bathes until it is crisp.
A warm breeze caresses the treetops,
their leaves gently swaying to the rhythm of July.
As the evening draws in,
the sun floats down like a deflated balloon,
and the moon rises proudly to welcome the night,
where crickets begin to chirp and chatter,
under its pearly white light.
The pebbles on the deck start to cool
after cooking in the rays of the fourteen-hour day.
The rest of the garden is patient and still
as it waits for the sun to greet it again.

In Grandma’s garden,
the sun is running late to rise,
cautiously poking its head into cloud-stained skies.
The trees, desperate for their sap not to slow,
are set alight by rebellious leaves before they undress.
A shower of crisp brown parachutes fall,
a carpet of copper awaiting them all.
Night sends up her pale crescent moon,
breathing in the smell of decay.
It spills a chilly mist over the garden,
a spell to send nature fast asleep,
getting harder each day from which to wake.

In Grandma’s garden,
the sun has overslept.
The robin’s eight o’clock call drags it from its slumber
as it trudges through the thick cloud plastered above.
Skeletons of trees stand lonely,
no leaves to cover their timbered bones.
They reach up towards the faded sun,
hiding within sombre grey skies.
Droplets of dew dangle from the grass like crystal baubles,
and before you know it, the sun is yawning once more.
The night arrives,
its icy breath crisping the grass.
The wind whistles a sheet of frost onto the garden,
as nature is left to shiver and shake.

The sun rises curiously today,
welcomed by Grandma’s garden,
proudly clothed in a robe of green.
It no longer wakes in a lonely silence,
but is instead greeted by a chorus of new life.  
Bitter frost is replaced with a sweet dew,
and the soil is free to breath once more.
Drowsy flowers yawn as they come to attention,
their heads soaking up the sun’s new-born rays.
The old oak whistles to the wind’s new tune,
making the daffodils stand-up and swoon.
The sun kisses the clouds as it begins to pour,
tears of joy for Grandma’s garden,
alive and flourishing once more.