A walk on the sands


I saunter along the narrowing strip of sand swatch shade,

content to be near, this patchwork, from sea and sun made

and tiny golden grains so sheer.


In the far distance I see a small boy wrestling with his kite,

flashes of yellow, blue and red, the wind for once just right.

Carried higher as the string is fed.


A solitary jellyfish,a both translucent and ugly gelatinous form,

that missed the tide, washed upon the beach by summer storm

to be stared at while it died.


I cannot see, but feel the footprints marking where I’ve been,

soft sugar mould, and wonder if and by whom they’ll be seen

should their strange shape uphold.


Scattered at random lie odd crab legs and shells, all empty now

remains of afternoon tea, picnic scraps fought for in unholy row,

a Seagull frantic feeding spree.


A meandering gait, left then right one eye constantly on guard

for foamy finger jabs, the sand by detritus and seaweed scarred

by sudden tidal grabs.

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