Cinnamon coloured slingbacks dangle from her fingers,
as she searches the tide line for discarded gems.
A warm steady breeze whispers somewhere offshore,
but she turns her head in fear of sandy eyes.
...
Not for you, those cold clothes
woven of worry and made ragged with regret.
You lived your final hours fearlessly, as if becalmed,
with a whole life yet to fetch that other shore.
...
We pass each other a tissue of lies
With which to dry reptilian tears
It seemed it was forever thus.
...
It was a glorious day in Padstow:
A real seaside bucket and spade day.
We strolled the little Cornish port in sunshine:
wifey and girls in search of arty bargains:
...
Oh to be your lasting rock,
to wrap you safe in tissue;
to turn back that heartless clock,
or set the quickening sand;
...
I stood, waiting,
looking through the glass darkly,
searching down that lane,
edged with dry stone walls:
...
If not for you, I’d be adrift;
My soul would find no rest.
Because of you, I live in love
and all my days are blessed.
...
An eight line verse I tried to write,
It kept me up near half the night.
Twas not so much the missing rhyme
More vexing was the metre's time.
...
We left the beach and dusty road
And scrambled up the rock strewn hill
The moon was full, as were our hearts
And all around was still
...
If you're not on board when my ferry sails,
and the spiteful wind's moaning its tirade,
I'll wait by the gate till your bright light hails.
...