It was the week before
you left her. That seaside
town you both used to
frequent 5 years before.

But it had lost its glamour,
lost the romantic mystery
it had back then. That day
you went through the motions,

ate at one of the restaurants
you used to go to years before;
sat on the beach watching
other lovers do what you

used to do, but didn't that day.
The sky was pale blue with
white clouds, and the sea did
what seas do, came in and went

out making that sucking noise
it does. You wanted her to say
something about the day, but
she didn't, she went through

the motions with you, like two
ham actors, knowing the scenes
and lines, but having no belief
anymore in the drama. At the

railway station she said about
having a photo taken together
as you used to do. So you went
into the photo booth together,

and sat, and the flashes came,
but this time, no giggles or
smiles, just you and her sitting
there, looking at the camera,

staring into a lost cause, in front
of no audience and no applause.


Three by three frame,
     Intrigue, perception,
Metaphoric imagination.

A moonlit seaside,
waves crash upon the shore.
The tide,
The beauty of the ocean,
admired from above.

Focus, Refocus

A shadowy landscape,
tall trees canopy the scene.
The still of the woods,
felt from inside.

Focus, Refocus

A dark speckled sky,
wishes and hopes twinkle and shimmer.
The magic of a starlit night,
loved and feared.

I am here

I was there
when you died
a handful of yards
from where I stood
on the most perfect of days

I now stand
on a seaside boardwalk
reciting your names
reading thumbnail bios
you liked the sun,
sea, surf and shore
you deeply loved
your family and
carried this place
within you as a
sacred sanctuary

But for that awful day
I would not know you

The day that bowed
Trinity’s holy spires
the clattering commotion
the destructive noise
tumbling, collapsing, splintering
our civic civility
consuming you
dashing many
seashore dreams

Yet your love
was not consumed
in the flames of acrimony

Your names
forged in bronze
etched on boards
written in sand

in wounded hearts
of those you loved
and blithely spoken
by a lifting chorus
of ever present waves

Righteous Brothers,
Ebb Tide

(double click image to read the names)

Holy Saturday 2017

municipal memorial for 9/11 victims

The water swells,
small waves roll into the beach
the ocean,
sends it's soft thundering
to where we sit amongst the driftwood
-contemplating the hazy obscurity spread before us.

The sea's gentle rumbling
is that of a slumbering beast
a deep
            and then
for the season to change.

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!

Laura Enright Feb 22

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

Terry Collett Feb 11

Most of the other children
avoided Anne
but Benny was with her
most of the time.

Here Kid
Anne said.

Benny walked
to where she was sitting
in a wheelchair
on the lawn.

Once he was beside her
she said
we're going
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
Benny said.

Good right push me
through the avenue of trees
and through the back gate
to freedom
she said.

Benny took a last look
back towards the nursing home
and once he was sure
no nuns were about
he pushed the wheelchair
along through
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
love it
she said.

Benny pushed her
along the path
and looked
at the beach and sea
and gulls above them.

He felt the wheelchair
go along easily
on the path
and inwardly
he gave a little laugh.

Runaway Train Dec 2016

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

more news that ain't fit to print by yours truly
Tony Luxton Dec 2016

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.

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