Collecting Shells

Small boy, kneeling, gaze fixed
amongst the rocks, crystal clear
flashes its glimpse of life, appears,
then gone, uncertain, until another
braves the tranquillity, why?

Surely the boredom of sand and rock
a better bet than a dart, for what?
a taste of the other side, which
sooner or later, will work its way round

stared for hours watching
life follow its course, haphazard
cover to cover until one by one
their dances done, walks away

Yet, no memory complete without trophies
to treasure, justify each and every,
of time’s allocations, hands
that just can’t resist
what the eyes choose, attraction,
the easy option, a shell, ornate
bright colours to gather dust and fade
until one day, finally recalled
, thrown away, her story of life
forgotten, wrapped in plastic,
a black eternity, entombed

the man, weathered, walks the beach
gaze fixed amongst the waves, lapping
the froth and foam around his feet, bare
looks briefly at the rocks,
their magic, long gone,
as picks the pebble, washed, worn
like the wish, and throws
eyes closed, back to the sea

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!

By cyncoed

Old & Welsh

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