Tonight the beach is calm,
tide pregnant with crabs.
Carib moon out; shadows
frolic outside like
flamenco dancers.
Surf sounds come
soft as silk. No sign
of rain tonight, no tinkling
on the zinc roof or pebbles
pelting the Miami windows.
Just heat, humidity and
that subliminal tug
of salt: seawater.
When I decide to write,
the images of surf will come,
the seaweed smells, the cicada-
the thoughts of day
slipping into night
Then I will write.
great penned, Martin..i love the serenity descibed here..Top marks! thanks for this
And what a write! You really do seem to be able to capture even the smallest of details from relatively few lines.Where's the book? Love Duncan
Martin, the title alone of this piece was pure genius on your part. Taking us to a wonderful journey, the imagery was delicious, you fed us well with your imagination. Thanks for sharing.
Well-done, Martin. The poem reminds me of my own growing up near the beach. I know the inspiration of rough dunes and reeds, the hermit crabs scuttling into their holes. It made me remember my oft mis-spent youth and the hours alone on the beach in winter. Thank you. Hugh
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
amazing joy in these words the place alive with accurate and lyrical details everything breathing the poet waiting the time soon for the poem to join the natural beauty of the world but somehow the creative impulse always there even before the words become tangible a wonderful inspiration