It is quite balmy here by the bay
dally I may and sand I play
cuddling and puddling into a grainy muddling,
I fray away - in this, a golden day.

The scorching sky-ball rays bequeath
a vermilion wreath on my bones' sheath
doth it burns and churns yet how lovely the terns
whom glance beneath - ruby-me they seeth.

The Gulls flock in a white lustre
within a cluster paced muster
though in such rank, a gap is manque and in that flank
without fluster - I desire to soar in bluster.

To fly amidst the cloudy haze
in fluffed graze and twilight maize
would release the strain and reign of the pain;
from my darkest daze - into the briny bays.

Let tokens of a lost love seep
into the deep where I canst weep
and remnants of swill be fed to Brill by powering will
as such creatures keep - secrets asleep.

Sea currents drift my melted plume
cleansing a hearted tomb of gloom
of broken Sherds whilst girds the birds
fashioning in loom - as I soak in spume.

In praise to the salt queen I exalt a moan
taking in loan a swig from the throne
she clings and stings but I adore summer flings
returning in prone - the blend with my own.

Stumbling now to a neighbouring dune
I swoon and reflect in boon
that sorrow from Algea I borrow, can wait the morrow
wild wraiths be hewn - by this remedial tune.

How illuminate! This majestic bay
where dreams pray and verily splay
that waves of oceans bring notions of emotions;
from burdens' weigh - one escapes by the bay!

It is lonely over here
in the corner dim, the bar a-brim
frothing at spill - the suds of swill,
yet I perch still
for neither beer nor cheer; all alone in my sphere,
a shadow - shadowing over here.

Wistfully - I entreat the shore
that tiding sea - swell comfort on me;
briny in spume - cleansing n' bloom
my wreathy loom,
by Poseidons' lore; soak me in bore - that I languish no more
away, away from the lonely shore.

I splay to the moon
let celestial light pierce me a-bright,
that illuminate rain purge the strain
away from this pain,
though sparkle the dune - I mope and swoon the absence of boon
ever still lonely - lonely by the moon.

Dreadfully I grow weary
now in retreat - to an abode of sleet
frigid like the maze pulsing this daze,
my core – it frays,
too numb to be teary, bleak and ill-dreary - at night it is eerie
so - so alone and weary.

A silhouetted stray
internee of mourn, corona unborn
if only I borrow - a longing for the morrow, to slumber this sorrow;
on clouds I pray with seraphs I sway - to hymns of May
dreaming - dream of a silhouetted stray.

It seems that unborn offspring
passing before birth
actually yield in the Spring
in blossom fragrant mirth.

In floret violet haze
hyacinths cluster eyes
harmonic in swaying gaze.
budding - the unborn guise.

Robins melodically ode
tuning for mothering Flore
that blessed be an abode
unlike dreams lost before.

Snowdrops, are stillborns,
eager infants - were close
sadden bells still mourns
eluded breaths and bows.

Garden times of springs
sensor a revival of life
a budding glow that brings
ardent greeters to rife.

If the azure glow of the ocean
is summers' own liquid crest
then the curling swells in motion
are the flag ripples in zest.

Unfurl! Fissure - our queen of salts
your pulse surveys our shores
kissing the sands in wavey waltz
and bequeaths the pearly spores.

Tepid husks under amber beams
yearn for littoral embraces,
quench all sheath burnt seams
and drench the basking faces.

Spray your song of briny mirth
tickle our drum-shells with hush
in whisper sing of tiding worth
breeze their sultry summer crush.

Bustling simpers ode your grace
sodden granule shrines arise
the hustle rush - infants chase
you splatter and belch in prise.

Shimmer the peach and the blue!
Wing the terns of whitish grey,
this season a-bore without you
vast emblems, of the golden day.

A cluster of engraved birches
personifies a love of old,
upon sequins – Eros perches
bowing echoes 'long the wold.

Sweeten dew of noble rain
debris not – the emblem crust
nor bird of plumage stain
the hearted sketch of trust.

Nimble scouts of chirping worth
cavort and tune a number
wrought the song of her ole mirth
upon the sleek n' lumber.

Spectres - Illume of gold
stipple maps the spine
each bark n' rip that holed
glistens that was mine

Shrubbery - melodious swaying
curious tips like many eyes
as though my love were playing
and I - was in her guise.

Amorous whispers breeze;
she lingers not 'neath the burrow
but bristles with the trees,
in rooted limbs that furrow.

Wonder if - by the brook
the hustle, still she graze
of gentled hand n' took
and swept my ardent daze.

When aboard and ponder
I drift back to amber birches
there in idle wonder
bequeaths - my soulful searches.

Past week, on the night of Tiw
an uneasy candle-flame wavered
censored by hushed air kisses
casting doubt upon an ode;
scribing the blessed years of youth.

This pine scented disturbance
no doubt - an Autumnal message;
that rear weathered doors
failed in the tempered change
curiously bidding, further venture.

Patio' marbles were shrouded
creeping with expired foliage
leaves tainted old hickory
near devoid of all famed ochre,
merciless to breaths of the fall.

That sombre mulched pattering
was alike wistful wondering;
of delicate and shadowy footfalls
from condemned, exiled seraphs
strung by moonlight rays.

The flavescent master glistened,
whilst duelling a clouded force;
enclosing in vaporous march
smearing pebble trailings,
the skirmish roused nostalgia.

For eerie quivers - of familiarity
wrought from the despondency,
as if epitaphed notions of old
were recited by alto whistling,
each note rekindling a memoriam.

An exhale of soulful proportions
sent adrift an essence;
a smouldering encirclement
of exhumed - solemnly recalls
taken from seasonal chapters of yore.

Those hearted ashes of distant times
cavorted - as sterling embers
with a phantasmic replica
of an adoration long gone,
duetting on pockets of melancholy.

Then beauty settled into a sepulchre,
caressed by grieving wreath petals
saddened by silken veil,
awaiting the fateful - dust and sand;
the remnants of embodied divination.

Revived dolor swelled from within
tiding from old, emotive cicatrices
buried deep and then deeper
until from this panoramic taunt
does this churned anguish vein.

A corrosive, timely hiss from Carpo
brushed the illusions past
as once - to a maidens' mortality;
a premature cremation of dreams
lingering the bitterness of decay.

As the pining sky orb retreated
so too - this observer with mourn
stuttering farewells to the nameless
then returned to the forgiving study
to immerse again - in better times.