Tuesday, 24 May 2011

Beach watch

The cormorant leaves no trace on the surface after he dives, becomes a black sway chasing silver. Hands are busy on a scrape of sand at the sea's edge. A sandcastle is told every story. A gull sits close by, tucked in, lost in speckles of stones.

Out on the jetty, a boy throws stones into that place before the surging, where the water gulps them down. There's a woman lying on a futon. Prepared for Brighton. Bikini and boots. Heading into the sunblast, a stickman paddles on a surfboard.

Across the horizon, all day to spend, a yacht edges so slowly away that it looks like it will never get there. A fisherman leans back into his old car seat. Toes the shallows. One long slim cloud drifts, East to West. Neat as a child's drawing.

A running dog snaps at beach wide wave crests. Turns to do it all again. And again. A grandma sifts stones in a sieve. Head bowed. Treasure hunting. Lunchtime over, a crow picks through every stone.

Just up the beach, someone on last night's tide ridge, watches all these solitudes.


25th May 2011

If you'd like to read some more of my words, why not head over to The Red Ceilings where Mark has posted three of my poems - Nasturtiums, bird in the reed and No comfort. Thanks Mark.