In The Shadows

I shall be here – in the shadows,

upon a dune-crest riding high,

playing my whistle, softly, sadly:

oh – let the tide come flooding nigh. Continue reading

Dune Grass

Oh the Marram Grass so firm before

the violent waves that raise-crash ashore

and carve in the sand a delicate rose

of the coming of the wind – and how it goes

and scratches just like a seismograph

a record of just how the wind gusts laugh

and leap between blades shimmering

and play, reverberating, glimmering.

Oh what a charge to nurture flowers gay

and spread in the sun day after day

and night after night below the milky stars

send pale racimes out-reaching far

towards the sea that ashore angry foams

and the rising sun’s warming golden gloam.

Onshore

I stand way back far out of reach

of the waves that spill upon the beach

and curl and twist, retreat and fetch

pale foamy fingers writhe and wretch

and beckon empty leave the shore

before turning fast to fling afore

and snatch at ankles careless left

within reach of its coldest breath

each bitter twisted hiss ashore

lunges for feet that run before

the sucking speed to boil and spin

each attempt to drag the watcher in

its unrequited cold desire

leaves unquenched its raging fire

and violent angry crashes wild

vehement in fury towards the child

who turns to run upon the dunes

backed by a floating silver moon

stand and turn – look out to sea

where the sun is swallowed finally.