I like the waves.
The way their static fizz tickles
the bristles of my ears,
as if they were long brown thistles in beach dunes,
engirding pools of sand between
the wet crevices of my toes.

I’ll lie in the bayside sheets of gold,
where the clouds drift silent,
encompassed by its warm fold,
soaking my horse-haired brush
into sand-speckled jar,
painting my watercolour flowers;
butter daffodils and heavens daisies.

I’ll lie on sun-dried towels
beneath chequered brolly
and scribble my brain
into summer-kissed parchment,
with leaded letters and granite words.

I’ll write in the colour of my soul,
using what’s left of my heart,
as I’m flayed down to the white-skinned bones
that hold me upright:
left thin and pale.
But, for these tapestries,
I find it worth my loves
discounted sale.

Wait
This can't be a mistake

The morning light
Is just too bright

We've overslept
Curled up in bed

Now we must rush
Gone that soothing hush

Toilet flushing
Teeth fast brushing

Coffee churning
Toast now burning

Swallow fast
Needs to last

Stuff all over
Where's the roller

Switch off lights
Well miss our flights

Connections short
Should we abort

No time to think
I need a drink

Get in the car
The Airports’ far

Traffic's a pain
This is insane

Check-in slow
With bags in tow

Our gates a mile
All rush - no style

People milling
My headache drilling

Boardings slow
I'm about to blow

The seat's a squeeze
But I collapse with ease

At least we're here
I need that beer

Our chatter muted
With strength diluted

We crack a smile
Gone is the bile

Thoughts of the beach
Within our reach

Where we can lay
For the whole day

Fall in a heap
Recover - sleep

Sand in our hair
Without a care

The sound of waves
Heavenly daze

The beach in winter is my crying place
The shower will do
Sometimes the car
The tucked-away toilets at work
They are containers
But the beach is
My accomplice

We mourn together, weather gives us room
The wind assists, insists that others leave
If some resist, enlists the sand to
Reinforce the clear command with
Stinging pressure, stresser that the
Beach in winter is for us
And us alone
To sit
And safely grieve

The memory of
that night on
the pier, when
we scrawled our
names onto the floor
with a pocketknife,
and dreamed of when
we might show
our children,
but the children we
never had will
never know,
and the scratches
on the wood will
fade, stepped on
by countless people
who will never know of
our love.

salt seas
and cold nights.

narcotics atop sand:
your bellied laughter,
a little dry gin,
the rising sun warming our faces as it wakes the world.

and here with you,
maroon painted and
drunkenly dancing around words,

everything seems so
light.

As I peer out onto your tumbling waves
Mesmerised by your essence, I wonder,
How many lives have perished under.

Were your solemn rocks once colonized with native blood?
Or more recently, the couple that drowned, or the man who dived too shallow, or the young boy on holiday that thought he could brave you at your worst.  

Or the countless lost souls who chose you for their final moments, perhaps mesmerised just the same, reaching for peace beneath your depth.

And yet, you lure us back.  With respect, we approach your indifference, and countless joy you impart on adult and child.  But never forget, a blood oath must be paid, every once in a while.