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Poem
I glimpse the tidal waves, rise high,
Sweaty brows drip, a dry.
surf boarders and  dipper are so many,
dolphin rides touts coerce you for just a few penny.

red vested lifeguards always on their toes,
A breath of relief, the tippling tourists, their number grows.
ripples, sounds a melody repeat,
artisan, tests his percussion cask to a beat.

A robe draped lass, captures her lover,
sun, its rays darkens the picture ,above it hover.
Reshoots  she, from another angle,
smiling lover’s flushed face she manages to wrangle.

 hi-tide shack  perched a high,
view is great and the breeze  zips by.
distant travelers they bathe in the sun,
Some on the sand , others  swelter drip their as they run.


  Balding head darts, reflects its gleam,
the scorching sun and the skin cream.
The peddling tribal woman with an orange drape,
family cuddling a little one, the sun to escape.

young woman, alone she walks,
stray young man I think he stalks.
tattoo on his arm seem so strong,
They are lovers, I know I am wrong.

The flower powered  oldie, walks with his guitar strung  back,
A bag in his hand &stuff he puts aside on the beach rack.
a hulk walks by, in nickered blacks,
To the percussion maker’s shack can see his sandy tracks.

bikini clad lady, dart towards a fella,
blueness of her robe shades her name tattooed, Isabella.
chat they seem to have and away he’s gone,
kicks some sand and wades back to her beach chair all alone.


Past noon and ebbing are the tides,
dippers galore and can see them lying in the watery sides.
eagle sweeps and glides a close,
chasing birds  are but a murder of black crows.

tall blond man ducks in the water he ambles,
With a bulging tummy ,it rumbles.
thatched roof stays the sunlight on me,
blue clothed ceiling textures the sky and the sea.

dark Indian lass, aglow on her face,
heat rays redden her skin ablaze.
Hurriedly she moves to the thatched shack.
Her lover here rubs lotion on to her back.

Cattle herds , see them stroll the sandy water,
An English couple walks away from the boat with their daughter.
Beneath the beach umbrella a man cleans his shades,
The strong breeze its trapped around him under the glades.


An hour has gone by and my throat is all dry,
Sparkling water I gulp down the bottle with the blink of an eye.
Content is my heart for this passionate poem I create,
Good or  bad , you can choose to debate.
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