Scribbles

Cauliflower creams shimmer against the creeping tide.
Sparkles dance high on the rising crest,
Smoothly lapping onto the golden silicon crop.
The closing minutes in the life of our daily sun,
Splatters a grey haze on all within its reach.
Reflections of masts and OAP’s on a mystery tour.
It sharpens edges, emotions and an old bull dog tempers.
The hound irritated snaps at a fly,
Masterly looping figures of eight,
Always skipping just out of her reach at the last moment.
I see two lovers in the distance,
They seem as one in this ill light.
Their shadow is tightly cemented into one by their intimacy.
Their loving laughter wafts towards us,
As we stand as kings on our rock castle.
Surveying all before us from our green slippery throne.
On the yacht club steps past masters and Yuppy crews,
Sup on half pints.
Tales of the horn are measured on a fishermen’s rules,
As the old sea dog spins his yarns.
Adventure for many who sail a desk.
We pass within earshot and while struggling to hear.
I could have listened for years.
Only whispers from a dark priest hole,
Set deep against the wind and spray,
Drew me away to continue in this maze of styles.
Stepping back from this contentment of life was hard.
But with every breath of air, new promise opened.
From that point till I felt in you and for you,
I imagined feelings we touched were caresses,
And moments we have are but time in a fading light.