Poem Category: Beach

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.

All
the calls of nature
that sand dunes can hide.

Family beach
the lost child looking stunned
at my yell.

Beach stroll
the following moon so bright
the child also turns.

Bay tides
composing the debris
wet side down.

Midday storm
uncovering on the beach
a chainless anchor.

The waves zigzag
melting the sand
melt by the sea.

Island tides
composing us a camp-fire
from driftwood.