Winchelsea Beach

Setting off down the beach 
We slip and slide, 
On the slow, ancient tide of shells and stones
That shifts beneath our feet.

While puppet-string gulls
Dance on the wind, 
And rod-and-arm ships line up astern against 
An early sky.

Then hit our stride, piston legs
Perfectly in time,
The shingle making the sound of pulsing steam
With every tread.

Soon it is time to sit and eat,
Catch our breath, 
While lazy teenage squalls skulk, late home
From a night offshore.

Each of us coveting the smooth
Marbled pebbles, 
In our pockets, now cherished memories set free 
From here, for evermore.


May 2022

Kent and Sussex Poetry, local poetry, winchelsea

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