Sun's dry handiwork
Salty skinned sunbathers, stripped
Sandy bones, de-hyd
Replaced watermark
With brand that is baked in deep
Pimping with long reach
Ray's Gaze, no flinch ways
Dusk don't need a sentinel
Has Fog roll blanket
Slips away, act 3
Crickets chirp their gossiping
Undercover, shades
Hides in Night's phase shift
Will employ shadows at day
Witness protection
From relentless ways
Security, privacy
Quiet Holiday
How lucky am I to live close by the iconic Beachy Head
From below I can hike up a very steep hill
Though on reaching the top I can feel quite ill
So nowadays I travel by bus there instead
Such very sad stories of troubled souls
Who arrived there, but never went home
For despite the wonder and beauty untold
As a suicide spot it has come to be known
Despite sadness and trauma of troubled souls past
As they leapt to their deaths in despair
Such tranquillity and peace I feel in the air
Whenever I visit; whenever I’m there
The feeling of calm that abounds all around
Surely comes from those souls as they soared
They are now at peace no more suffering or pain
Free from their troubles they are joyful again
I truly hope they reached a place
Where no longer they feel pain
For in this life they found no joy
They had to leave - had to destroy
So guided by a mourning dove
To a tranquil place instilled with love
Written on 5th October 2018
Contest Strand Choice V
Sponsor Brian Strand
HONORABLE MENTION
Sand between my toes
Salty lips
Waves wetting my soul
A damp musk fills the salty air
as gray dawn rises over the star field of night.
Unseen, crows hawk the glitter of light
upon the dunes of day,
calling out to man and feathered friend alike
to rise from within the bejeweled shades
of emerald and turquoise.
The scruff pines prickle an expansive horizon,
lifting from the dark onyx of night
scenting the still air.
Stalwart oaks finger the nubile rays of gold
morning edges their crenulated leaves
breezes lift limbs with a rustle liken to the
scratch of crinoline.
Topaz acorns cascade from the crowns of oaks,
homage to the placid play of summer’s end
at the beach at last.
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