Living so close to Atlantic rollers
Gives poetry motion. Thunderously loud
They break, subdued by gigantic boulders
Under towering cliffs magesticaly shrouded
In swirling mists. Sometimes desolate death
To battling boats, lost in galeforce storms.
Fishmen know they face ultimate breath
If they dare underplay fierce seas before dawn.
Yet, under crystal-clear skies, the moors shot
With yellows of gorse, on dazzle-white sands
Bare-footed walks, with decorum forgot,
Give toes golden warmth, feel soft as the bands
Of curls in a young girl's hair. Hosts of gulls
Appear, beachcombing. The sea, now a bright
Emerald green, gently whispers and lulls.
Caves now fill with clear gems of sea-blue light.
Smugglers abounded here once. Tales now told
Of shiploads taken by candlelit tracks
And hidden 'til sold. Now surfers strike bold
Poses on beachboards, 'tho salt-smells come back
To remind us seaweed still fills the Bay
As before, when miners dug tin below
In underground dark, and never saw day.
What hardships beset them we'll never know.
Seascapes on doorsteps are idyllic until
Negligence teaches that breakers can kill.
A pen-picture for Gayle.
Hand-in-hand with beauty and menace.Fabulously vivid and descriptive.Kev x
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The sea and her moods twenty years I lived her and she never failed to hold me dear thankyou for bringing back to life +++++++ 10 Chris x