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Secret
Reef Evening glass.
After surfing
a secret reef, evening glass off at the bottom of a wooded dingle.
We grabbed on our rags and grew warm next a driftwood orange fire.
The glow of the rippling sun spilt over the watery horizon and left
the purple night.
We guessed
our way back through the sudden trip black
On a familiar nobly woodland track.
At our vans we arrived and got inside.
Drove off, Clicked on some sounds.
And left the Owly night behind.
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Cloud
Blown Evening Tide.
The raging
roaring rugged rough Sea.
Rolling round boulders and roaring at me.
The westerly
wind drums on my ears
Like a face full of gallop.
Chanting, with the spoil of air raid clouds
With the rumbling of white water waves.
All together stampeding loud.
On the slow
mo marching Sea,
The coming dance.
The twisting, the drifting
The howling, the growling.
The mauling Sea,
Rocks to the crush, pebbles to be .
The crawling
Sea.
Beneath the sprawling skies.
And sunsets warm kiss goodbye.
The heart melting sunset.
The fusing metal sunset, the suns melt.
The Gold the Chrome the glow.
For summer,
lament.
The tides, the days
The seasons flow.
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| Outside
the Limpet Shell.
Waiting for the surf,
all deeds done.
One kicks along the tide line, crying for much more fun.
A warm pockets aching stroll along Seaweed smell
And driftwood, and shingle and a Limpet by litter.
I paint one track footprints
in sand
And balance between time.
When the tide has kissed the cliffs
The beach can no longer be mine.
Only at its edge, will I sit and watch
Amongst driftwood, sea things and litter I squat.
The dudes have promised
a swell tomorrow
T'will wash away this surf less sorrow.
I clasp my hands and sit and sigh, while
The sun sets orange a golden tidal sky,
And silhouettes cliffs, misty mouth caves
Bold gloss boulders and diamond splash waves.
I wait.
Pebbles rumble,
Clank. I wait.
Pebbles rumble shhh
Pebbles rumble shhh
Pebbles rumble shhh
Clank.
Shhh shingle whispers
Shhh shingle whispers
Tink.
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This poem, is about a beautiful Butterfly. So beautiful,
That it makes one, long to have a closer look at its colourful honest
splendour.
So pure, that one longs to be closer to it and enjoy the beauty of its
being.
Merely her presence is enough, to just be.
This poem, is also about one beautiful girl, written by one man.
As she glides on the lawn warm breeze, through my friendly garden
All jealousy around us, is just cold wind.
Butterfly
Girl.
If I were to gaze upon
her beauty,
And to believe that she could love me.
I would stand a loveless fool.
But each time I see her
I just stand still and dream of her.
For hours.
And long to lay with here, in my hand
On her warm flesh summer bed of flowers.
To simmer in love lust, would be so cool.
So should I just gaze upon her beauty
And think, she's like a Butterfly
That's' bound to fly.
Should I long to be closer to her,
Should I even try.
And what then. If Even when.
My whole body is crying.
I stood closer. And she only flew away.
Would I never get to see her beauty,
on another day.
Or would I find my love for trying,
In my own special kind of way.
Stay.
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