Rising tide

Watching water
slowly fill
Waves get bigger
bigger still
Beach gets smaller
Sea get wide
Standing here
with rising tide

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Tide

Coming now, in a swath of yellow,
this rising tide of dandelions.

The Beholder’s eye

Caught in the rocks on the beach from a storm
an old length of rope from a ship
Entangled and twisted by the hand of the sea
the land has it firm in its grip

Every turning tide

Broken by the ocean’s hand
the old lady of the beach
stretches out a long green arm
the sea, once more to reach
Strewn with captured flotsam
from every turning tide
her aged woodwork fractured
she leans now to one side

Kissed by moving water

Kissed by moving water
gentle, sometimes strong
shingle moves the shifting sand
to the ocean’s song

Living as an ocean

 

I can close my eyes and drift away
with sea scent on the air
whilst the cries of seagulls up above
adds a richness there

I can drift away on a summer tide
as it laps up on the shore
floating as it ebbs away
as my mind cries out for more

Pocketful of pebbles

 

I have a pocket full of pebbles
But some are no longer there
Weighty, they burn a hole and yet
Their tactile pleasure keeps them there. For a while.