Meal Beach, Burra Isles, Shetland by Robin Gosnall
The ocean waves
at me
feigning nonchalance.
Two can play this game.
I stand
like a stop sign
at the edge
and wait.
Transparent, tentative,
the water washes near,
withdraws.
Again it approaches,
gives my soles a chill tickle,
sneaks away.
The sea surges,
sucks at my toes,
absconds with streams of supporting sands.
I shift my weight
when it looks away,
settling into a deeper foundation.
Now it sends
an unsuspecting jellyfish
amid the foam.
I flinch
and eye its translucence
as it flows behind my ankles,
just where I might have stepped away,
and back again, relieved,
into the surf.
The sun winks
on its crony waves
and turns up the heat
beating my shoulders without scruple.
Still I stand
until the mountain waves come to me
and I am ready
to dive in.
When I got thru this
ReplyDeleteI looked down and found sand in my shoes.
How do you do that?
Terrific. Your words make me feel like I was there with the sand streaming away beneath my feet. But maybe not in March.
ReplyDeletewhat a lovely poem- I especially like these 3 lines:
ReplyDeleteThe sun winks
on its crony waves
and turns up the heat
Have a lovely weekend!
How beautiful. I can feel the sand and smell the sea.
ReplyDeleteLovely. Poetry is so hard to do well. Bravo!
ReplyDeleteI like this take on the pic and its form.
ReplyDeleteI like how you captured standing at the shoreline.
ReplyDeleteI am loving Phil's comment.
ReplyDeleteAnd your poem.
=)