Tuesday, 3 January 2012

Freshwater Bay - poem

I hope yesterday's little exercise has got you thinking.  Here is my offering.  It hasn't had a final edit but it's about there.  Want to share your poem?  Perhaps you would like to comment on mine - what works, what doesn't.  Do you like it? Not like it?

Freshwater Bay

The cool breeze sneaks in across Freshwater Bay
feeling it’s way through gritty sand and wind breaks,
unnoticed, winding through legs of excited children,
ruffling hair, blitzing skin, goosepimpling,
extracting a twitch from the dog under the deck chair,
up from the beach, licking a line past the ice cream kiosk
and rolling it’s salty tongue towards the outer reaches
of the town, away across the downlands.

A cloud teases the sun, cloaks it,
turning heat kissed rocks to grey,
the sea mocks, bathers shiver,
mothers wrap towels around swim-suited boys
and girls, fathers pack up cricket sets, buckets,
spades, picnic food and sunshades,
heading with flip-flop feet between white cliffs
to the Farringford Hotel or some busy holiday centre,
the channel’s breath at their backs. 

Freshwater Bay, Isle of Wight

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