Crashing waves against the crunch of sand Touches my feet Sinking into the softness beneath me As the water stains my toes blue And paints goosebumps Paints chills Across my legs Up to my stomach Full of the same crashing waves Those which curl And spin in whirlpools Up to my chest Into my lungs full of seasalt And the bitterness of the morning sun Down every branching vein That reminds me of mangrove roots Yet pale and blue So small and delicate It reaches my own shaking fingers And to the rosiness of my cheeks All I hear is the soft ringing of windchimes in my ears And the splash that dissipates into nothing but tiny droplets Maybe that’s what keeps me awake at night.
Said the gull to the Helter Skelter: ‘Did you know, when the oak was felled You would, one day, delight a girl With raven eyes, who’d lost her way And wound up starting fires?’
The gull went on: ‘Did you know, when the oak was cut This wayward girl would grab your mat To climb the stairs of our own prayers To outshine all the spires? And, did you know, when boards were made A dusty offering to the lathe You would, one day, tease out the sap, The wildwood sap within her bones Confounding all the liars?
So, you should know, when planks were bent Twisted, slotted, primed and painted, That this lost girl would one day jump Up higher than high flyers.'
see the mirror mirror the sea thyme scents sense time me and you sleeping sleep in you and me waves disquiet these quiet ways and continents wear down down where continents end barques dock while wild dogs bark at oars or at noon redcurrants, sand beaches, beeches and recurrence our morning mourning hour terns whirled there / their world turns
The challenge here was to create a poem in which each line is itself plus its sonic reflection (see the mirror / mirror the sea). The theme was the seaside.
i’ll remember the sound of the ocean gently lapping the shore, and the sound of birds chirping - which birds i can’t be sure - i’ll remember my feet blistering, and the taste of red wine i’ll remember the blue 10pm sky and two magpies giving a sign.
most of all i’ll remember the restless joy that i feel, my yearning that reels, my eagerness to escape and my emotions, slowly taking shape.
When I cycle without holding the handlebars on my bike, I wonder if I look arrogant, Like a bit of a *****, But In winter I don't care because as I let go and straighten my back and lift my arms and open my mouth and breathe in the sea I feel like a butterfly or a comorant or a bumble bee lifting and gliding and riding winter up and up and up, I feel like a tiny yellow light has been lit like a candle at the base of my spine and the soft warmth from it is thawing my body from my ribs to fingers.
Winter wants to hurt me, At least it feels that way, Put a bag over my head and expect me to smile, My scarf is making my neck sweaty and itchy and I'm sick of it, The ice is creeping deep and deeper into my head, Whispering words I thought I'd buried.
In books set against snowy backdrops with whisky in pubs and cable knit jumpers and hands to mouths, Winter is warm and bubbling with atmosphere, And though I've seen glimpses and sipped on spicy *** and given myself red wine teeth and sore fingers from sitting outside and laughed until my belly ached, Today it just feels cold Colder than cold, Cold and hollow,
Unless I'm riding my bike with no handlebars and looking at the sea.