Sunday, July 19, 2009


There's history in this road,
That mimics the coast.
Southern reaching, Western sprawling,
London Bridge falling, but lighthouses' most.
Sand-swept sea snakes crawling,
Seaweed green bay, shell scattered welcome mat.
Salt rich underwater canyons,
Freight ships, ship wrecks, pirate cannons.
Sun setting high on the horizon line.


Shifting sand, you useful mover,
Crumbling rock, you eat it for breakfast,
You angry tide, you're never tired,
You globetrotting currents, you adaptor,
You creator, you destroyer,
Your monumental momentum,
You endless cycle.
We must be born from you; we must be of you,
Your weapon- liquid bricks,
Your victim- solid things,
You vast mass of undiscovered,
You plank stripper, soul ripper, treasure sinker,
Your face is a desert,
Below you are what we are on land,
You sunlight sister, moonlight brother,
You chameleon, you rely on sky for colour,
You deceiver, you two faced unreadable sheet,
Glistening and deep.