Poetry | Stories | Photography
A man stands by the sea,
looking at the lived years.
Soft twilight contemplation,
knowing the end is close.
The horrors he committed
are etched into orange skin.
His black tar beating heart,
little blood left in his veins.
All he longs for is to cement
his legacy with destruction.
Lofty green-stained cliffs
rising up from the cold sea
Wind-swept and Foggy
A bonny girl calls the sea
Bring a man full of rare moss
walking by the sea
old now, yet unmissable
a man and a child
to cover my face in shame
She left many lies
The sound of the sea
leaving the window open
The sea calls me home
a Struggle to find sound sleep
The longing to remain close
a rush of cool air
Opening up the window
I can hear the sea
Sunlit afternoon
Banana Chairs and Boho
The smell of the sea
the falling droplets
they increase in their number
the windscreen a blur
neoclassical engine
sounds of heartbreak and the sea
Carrying a spade and a bucket,
towards the clear, shallow pool.
A baby crab kicks up some sand,
and a fish, startled, tries to flee.
Her small hands are not unkind,
for she does not wish them harm.
Running around the crystal pool,
squealing and waving her spade.
A picture of the Faroe Islands on the screen.
Work calls you back, yet the picture leaves you with a monetary conundrum: to walk away or stay.
Wind chiselled landscapes of rugged rock, green and the ever-present sea moving in and around.
You stay for your cat, yet long for the sea.
forgotten in hues
the bellwether of no one
talking to the sea
C & K 