South Milton Beach

South Milton Beach. pic

 

the water

on course to spill

drives head-long seaward

following yearnings of the moon

on vectors that cannot be ignored

rolling stones and pebbles in a forensic rush

to clean, to erase all traces

of where they have been

so each mystery is pristine

lost in spray – the wind

gives them alibis

and they go, all of them

like turtles to the maw

of the open sea

that pretends to be    gentle

though it has the power over night and day

and I walk amongst the day trippers

tourists on familiar soil yet eager

to be away

from home

Breaks it

Breaks it. pic

 

this howling wind makes the sound of denial

edging and barging at the sides

of everything that has

the temerity

to even co-exist

it is like a beast contained but

I enjoy it’s song

always changing shape

escaping, seeking

breathless in its own anomaly

                                                of sound

I can imagine frontiers re-arranged

whole empires usurped

before the political elites are made aware

and how fun that would be

as the wind lifts off their suits and

shames them

their stolen respectability strewn

across frontiers and fences

undergarments on overhead lines

storm Georgina I would bow to thee