The low rumble of the surf gives
way to sweet whispers as waves
lick at the black sand writhing
beneath an ardent summer sun.
With each wet swipe and stolen
taste, the sea retreats to savour,
then inevitably returns for more.
Posts from This Journal “poems” Tag
Like a rough pencil sketch, a dragon's head materialised from the clouds, the edges blurred in shades of lead and cream against a background that…
My feet ached in blue suede heels I'd bought on sale at Westgate, but I was distracted by the way the evening sun caught the Auckland skyline as…
If you squinted hard enough, and used the generosity of spirit required for the earnest appraisal of a child's fingerpainting, the clouds painted…