A Little Life.

I am a small person
living at the edge of a harsh, grey sea.
The world does not ask my opinion.
Few people remember that I am here.
Years roll by with the waves
and the world turns, unnoticed.
The sun comes up.
The clouds roll out.
People come and go,
doing much as others did before them.
Out there, over the horizon
hordes of them scramble,
going somewhere,
streaming through life.
Moving, doing, building.
Spoiling, taking, ravaging.
Times move on
but as I look out
across the wind blown strand
where my scant life plays out,
setting my face to the wind,
there is a kind of peace.
Losses and gains,
failures and achievements
are shown for what they are.
Little changes.
Something endures.


Storm surge. January 13th 2017

Do not take me for granted.
Do not presume.
Do not toy with me
for I will take you down.
I will prevail.

Do not think that I am benign
simply because I allow you
to dangle your children’s toes
in a soft summer wave.
My force is waiting to strike
and I will unleash it against you
at a time of my choosing.
I am not your friend.

Hidden in my depths
is the power to destroy.
The power of unconsidered hate.
The flash of resentment
long withheld.
A whip sharp bitterness
hides in the sting of my waves,
lashing out at random,
showering venom.
I do as I please.
I take.
I destroy.

Remember my words
as you parade your folly
in the gentle heat
of a long summer day.
You are there
on borrowed time,
bought by my indulgence.
I am waiting for you.
I will come.


Sun worship.

It is a wild sunrise after a rough night.
The sea is already awake and grumbling,
hurling itself at the beach, bent on having the last word.
The horizon is torn apart by rampant waves.
Spume flies up, lit by the fire of the first rays of light.
Bruised storm clouds drag themselves across the sky,
battered into shades of grey, blue, black and gold-
a tattered, ragbag army limping home.

Life is hiding. Few things are on the move.
Tiny waders dip and scuttle along the waters edge,
holding their nerve, keeping on, keeping on,
and a single crow, a fearless adventurer,
amuses himself after easy pickings along the shoreline
by swooping to taunt a passing dog and make him run.
I breathe in the power of the sunrise, letting it calm my fears,
and drink in the rhythm of the waves.


August Bank holiday.

A girl arches her back
and lets her legs flow out behind her.
Waves lap at her hair.

A dog points his tail
and tests the strength of his lead.
He is on his way.

An old man slumps down ,
face hidden behind his hat.
“I’m resting my eyes.”

A gull soars up
on a breath of summer air.
Somewhere there are chips.

A child is buried
in a heap of soft warm sand.
There is always one.

A small girl struggles
with a board bigger than her.
“Mum said I could have it!”

Far out in the blue
a white sail glides with calm ease.
Going nowhere fast.

A solo swimmer strides out,
Towards the light blue of the deep sea.
She isn’t messing about.

A dad in long shorts
pushes his baby through the soft sand.
“Better than the gym, this!”

Hot dog in cold mouth.
Shrieks, gasps, laughter and splashes.
Warm air on cool skin.

A tiny fly lands.
A bright flash of iridescent green
lights up a windbreak.

The waves creep closer
to a pristine tartan rug.
“Frank! We should move.”

Intersecting lives.
Each taking the last of the summer
and running with it.


Walking among clouds.

On a fine summer morning,
along a stretch of sunlit beach,
playful breaths sprinkle glitter
over shimmering pools,
careless waves shake out
their hair to dry in the wind,
and gulls wheel, soar and cry overhead.
This is a blank page
written on by natural beauty
where you may allow your thoughts
to race away,
and settle far out at sea.

It is possible to leave the world behind
and walk amongst the clouds.