Poem Category: All

Waves crashing
from her egg to her eggs
the sound turtles hear.

Storming beach
another log of driftwood
at war with the waves.

Midnight surf
the pull past her ankles
of quicksand.

Beach wind
her umbrella escaping
the lime bikini blonde.

Fingers of waves
I feel the ancient pull
to the driftwood.

Family beach
girls young enough to skip
to the ice-cream van.

Our picnic finished
gulls among the scraps
not worth chasing.

Travelled waves
one touch to the beach
from the undertow.