Poem Category: All

being late
on the crunch of our gravel
a visitor calling

ebb tide
the life the gulls take in
from the rock pools

solitaire
a pane of moonlight
plays with my cards

across temple grounds
the lawns pecked
around us

driftwood beach
mainly gulls mainly
in the curves of the sea

prints on the beach
tiny giggles
stepping into mine

dog refuge
in soft eyes
taking her home

bright
in the torchlight
my door key turning

beach shack
staring at a sun-bucked sea
the gulls ride on

holiday house
opening this winter smell
to the windows