It's just a house
on four posts
that managed to encase
my heart in it
and lock it up
with the key.

It's just a house
that got swallowed
and my heart went with it.
Locked up and lost
into the sea.

Sometimes we all need the beach
Faraway from the city's urban streets,
Sometimes the sound of the waves
Simply knock you off your feet.

To watch the children play in the sand
On a lovely summers day
Making castles with their buckets
In their little childlike way.

Sometimes we all need the beach
To be free from the hustle and bustle
Taking in the fresh sea breeze
Away from the toil and trouble.

The seagulls and their echoing cries
Seeking out a place to land
Many people are passing by
Heading for the brass band stand.

There is the wacky warehouse
Where you can have a beer or two
While your kids play on the slides
As they come in there with you.

Sometimes we all need the beach
To take away that daily stress
Relaxing in those deck chairs
Away from the factory or office desk.

The great, green Giant sleeps all through the day;
beer-bellied, toes outstretched, dipping into the sea.
He lazes beneath the springtime sun, while we sit idly
anticipating possibilities and to-bes.

This dead castle bursts with life,
seagulls, and sandwiches,
and cameras capturing the view
onto something they can hold;
something graspable.

                *

The Giant disappears at night;
merging with the mountains.
Fading into the dark, as the waning moon
creeps up behind and over and above;
dripping reflections to feel a connection
with the earth again.

Lovers wander now, wandering through the flirting streets
which tease with uncertainty, and curtain the
awe-striking depth of the darkness that dumbs their speech
as they 'turn at this corner and just along the promenade..'.

Pushed back by a blast of wind;
numbing hands cold.
Forcing them away from
prolonging a gaze on the Sea's cruel honesty;
knowing they would be driven mad
by endless questions of eternity.

Questions they attempted to drown out with music and dancing
and Tequila shots and the kissing and the music and the dancing...

But now in the air, by this high-tide, they are
Modern-age-small-town-philosophers.
'Have you ever seen the petrified forest?'
Will they tell stories of us too?
Life is so short and now is certain, well...
as certain as certain could be known for certain so..'

So, after meditating on the existence of existence,
they find refuge in the optimistic light of the stars.
Warmth for the spirit from the deep, dark, cold depth of the darkness;
'Because the night is so very young.
Look, there are still stars in the sky...'

Venus is inconsistent; an evening and a morning star.
And, oh, is that Orion's belt?


         Lying on the floor, in the morning, after a night of philosophy.

I used to think the restless waves,
Touched the beach in sweet embrace,
Shaped its form with loving hand,
Bestowing gifts to charm its swain.

Now I see indifferent march,
Cold consumer of the land,
Loving hand replaced by teeth,
Eternal rock reduced to sand.

I used to think the restless waves,
Whispered softly to the wind,
Reaching up with frothing lips,
Imparting secrets with each kiss.

Now I see the silent words,
Shouting rage against the land,
A totem of the cold and dark,
Ever waiting for our hand.