Washed up treasures
coated in a briny rind
even feathers bring it home
salty seaside perfume lingers
but mostly it’s the sand
that sticks with you
the constant scratch of the tide
Stand there all day
feet sinking, casting your words
toward the deep
hands waving offerings
to the gulls
The billowing roar
swallows it all
It’s the rhythm that remains
a drowning current
in your heart
long after you’ve returned
to the land
Who else loves the beach? I bought one of those poetry prompt books that has themes and word associations. I’ve been having fun playing around with it, trying to use the words provided in a way they might not have intended. Do you write the poem, or does the poem write itself?
The Poetry Patio 