Tag Archives: The Beach

Beachworld

 

footprints cislandAs you stare; stop looking… for answers on every wave, and under the tiring sun that lowers into its new water bed: forever creased. Each nearing roll of surf perpetually attends to the beach where you wander; reaching out and soaking, smoothing scars of soft land and human hand, from land loving creatures.

The bubbling roar of white noise; rising and dipping in volume; teasing your ears into hearing frequencies from lost radios stations: faulty and alluring. Every time this happens something is taken from you, soon replaced by a specific space to lighten your walk inland.

All this… as you stand, feet sucked by gooey miniature rocks that table gels of dead jelly fish; glistening like little brains of the sea; forced up upon confusion and violence from the mighty froths of wash.

 

 

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The Very Young

Boy running near a beach in sepia

 

 

The water rushes in

As an irresistable force

Towards distant twinkling lights

There

Miniature soldiers

Talk amongst each other

And their glow bugs

Sleep flying

Over and on crumbly cake ramparts

So overlooked

By a hovering fluoresent luna

Showering its moonbeams

While particular water

Lick sandcastles

Fragile upon themselves

With amateurish foundations

And so it’s true!

By children they are best made

They so do implore

The Little

Are softly strengthening

Tatty-bent-books

The boundless

Seeping

In old folklore