Beach

There are flowers tied

To black railings above the coast,

A memorial held hostage

To those who went out in a boat

And never returned,

Their crew now embodied in jaded stalks

Whistling shanties under their bonds

To a Mariner’s squall

 

It’s the same at every beach,

Bouquets by the greyed bunch

Captive and crowding

Above the waves jewelled

Like a serpent’s back glistening

Agate if the day is bright,

Otherwise a dull oily green flat

Sullen under clouds coiling a storm

 

We built sandcastles upon

One of those shores up north,

And afterwards scrubbed

Impure sand from under our nails

Stooping over water wading

Over our knees

To trade rough beads

For clean palms. We wanted

To gather shells

 

Sometimes, I visit your grave.

It’s bound inland,

Fixed under a stone that

No lapping can dislodge;

No, not even the heaviest downpour

Can make it move,

Nor flood you from your own ship

A one-ticket voyage

Long ago set sail

With a price I cannot afford

 

I stand there,

And I think of the day

We heard the gulls call,

Their own unrefined prayer

For rain piercing the warm

Of two hands’ vespers

Beneath an omnipotent sun

Advertisements

Author:

Amber R Walker, Hull, Creative Writer, Bookmaker, Lover of art

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s