Sitting By The Sea

Sitting By The Sea

Still the thirst,
Still the sound of fire,
furious in steel prison sweatshops,
mechanically labouring on rubber tires,
making the asphalt busy behind us.

Still the silent twinkle
over the grey sea
of gulls wings against
distant storm blackened clouds.

There is a fresh wind blowing
Memories with odour of iodine,
rotting kelp,
gull shattered shell fish,
rotting
on the receding tide.

The horizon calls,
It always calls,
Pause in silence,
The past is singing
Children carefree playing
On a beach.

Boats are running for harbour,
The weather is changing,
Rising wind has grounded the gulls.

Still the wind roaring in my ears,
Waves  dancing
With scarves of white lace.

Everyone runs for shelter
When they stream by, tearing sails,
Dancing with flying shawls
Of white lace,
Bare masted yachts,
Dancing,
Breasting waves.