Spring

Spring with the grit in my eyes,
I walk along the shoreline
the tide is out just leaving
what looks like suds
and bits of seaweed
smooth washed stones
sharper than you realise
first toe into the water
the wind brings tears,
as watching, wishing
I see a dog flash by
chasing gulls
the sounds of
three small boys
singing Beetles songs
and hear silly
Johnny stories
whistling in the air,
all gone, none to share
just ghosts tramping
and birds stamping
through the sands,
a faint bark, the yellow ball,
cans of salt
rusted rakes,
buckets of cockles
and razorfish,
a net holding seaweed
small translucent shrimp,
never enough,
except on a lucky haul
and the time the razorfish
soared through the sand,
they glooped when pulled,
we had a shoal then.
The grit is in my eye
and April with her
wicked wind and glint
promises me that summer
will bring a scene to life
but I'll never watch
a setter red racing in the sun
and never sing those
Beetles songs
with little boys
their giggles, now are sighs.




Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 579 times
Written on 2014-04-05 at 11:46

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F.i.in.e Moods The PoetBay support member heart!
Lovely descriptions, of course, it goes without saying :) These lines particularly reach me probably 'cause I'm fed up with the snow :

"and April with her
wicked wind and glint
promises me that summer"

April toys with our emotions, and these lines bring out that feeling in me.

Overall beautifully expressed... love your writing.
2014-04-12



What a perfect vision of a lovely memory! Sad, because it's only a memory now, but so vividly remembered. I could read this poem a hundred times and enjoy the vision you paint.
2014-04-05


shells
Full of nostalgia, I can almost smell the ozone. You have a wealth of lovely, bittersweet memories.
2014-04-05