Sunday Beach Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Acres of pale green sunshine, the cold North Sea
Has drawn a line beneath the snowy sky,
That hangs like a Chinese plate streaked grey,
Lit by the diamond ray of the dazzling sun.

Sparkling waters glitter in silver cups.
Where the dark land rises black as a breaching whale,
The voice of the sea is a wind, rushing through meadows.
The sand slides over the shore like mead down a thirsty throat.

Footprints plod along like purposeful camels.
Dogs race into the waves to bark and bite at the foam,
Fixed in their dogged identities,
Paw-paw-pawing prints the sea erases.

Water gurgles to meet the slippery shale,
To-ing and fro-ing, meeting and parting,
Two lovers, inextricably entwined.
The smooth clean sea's white veins swell turgid, high
To collapse onto the slithering strand.
Thrust and suck, thrust and suck,
Wet marriage of the tide,
Two partners, Sea and sand,
J'espere, j'espere, j'espere, they whisper,
In ever unresolving lunar tensions.