Crossing

here, the sand is soft underfoot, a far cry
from the pebbles of my childhood beaches,
where the shingle is stacked tall, a rocky bank to run down,
the stones hard, feet sinking,
wincing
squealing
from car to water, standing at the water’s edge, watching the waves
roll in and out.

here, the golden sand

stretches for miles, the water

blue and green, a world away from the grey, muddy water where once
we floated on our backs like starfish, the sun still warm at gone seven
and it felt like another place –

I am home now, here,
where I have crossed the bridge between two worlds
and where my wings are set free and the weight of the past has flown.

here, the sand is soft underfoot.

my feet sink down, rooting me here.

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Perfect Day

I remembered that day today
floating in the ocean with you
as if we were in the Med
everything looked new
it was the perfect day
the sea was glassy
the sand burning underfoot
the sun in the sky
beating down and everything was still.
we ate fish and chips
on the seafront, my wet hair
drip
drip
ing
down my back
as the sun went down
and the heat of the day was gone
the sweet glow that we felt
began to trickle away
as if it had all been a dream.

Poem Scribbled on a Clifftop

Spring sun beats down
on my face, waves crash
below
it’s easy to kid ourselves
that summer is nearly here
as we go barefoot in the water.
Up here, the wind is on
my face
my shadows lengthen
seagulls screech up above
and out at sea the water
rocks back and forth.
There is still a chill in the air
and two hopeful surfers bob
out at sea, watching the waves
waiting for the perfect break.
I climb and climb
Until the people on the sand
Are like pin heads.

Pining

I pine for summer
but now I’m craving
the familiarity of autumn books
that seem to shine orange and red
and brown and smell like warm drinks
and plenty of layers;
stories that glow warmth
and make me feel at one again.

Autumn

Autumn is here and I long

for those long sunny days

when we walked about barefoot,

short sleeves, picnicked

in the sunshine, sand between our toes.

 

Autumn is here and summer is gone for real

I think as the rain outside

hammers down, the streets and skies

grey and dull, the colours have seeped

away so that now, we’re living

in black and white.

Summer

holds promises we cannot see

the dream of new beginnings

long evenings and warm days

stretching out in front of us

full of hope, expectations

and long empty days

ready for potential

unwritten canvases ready

to be filled.

 

But then it starts to run away

faster than we can

keep up with it

and too soon, we’re mourning

the dying days and the loss

of all that time

which once stretched

out

in

front

of

us.

 

Morning [Creative]

 

Waking up to smell summer in the air,

dry heat rising from the earth

the birds sing

the river is at low tide

sunlight sparkles in the shallows.

People are dead, night-time terror

screams ring through the air

chaos reigns, everything plays out in slow motion

while summer pokes her head

through the door, sees death

and destruction strewing the way

and bows away for another day.

The End of Summer

Once again I’ve let the summer slip

away through my fingers

like sand falling on a beach.

The sun falls behind the trees

and the sky is painted red

an impressionist painting

I can’t forget – the promise

of another fine day ahead.

There’s not a whisper of wind

just the birds singing up above

as a robin hops into sight.

In the distance, black clouds

gathered, hovering menacingly –

a threat of what’s to come

as the light fades away,

another day nearly gone.

*

There is a crispness in the air

that wasn’t there before.

A mist hovers over the tree tops

and the grass blades tremble

with the heavy dew.

Remnants of summer linger, scattered

throughout the garden, while hounds

bark in the distance, down in the heart

of the valley. Autumn awaits

and summer is but a distant memory.