This poem from my book is here to remind me, that sometimes words just tend to flow, which has not been the case recently.
Beach Combing
Where a solitary seagull flew
hopeful of an unexpected catch
an old man moved along
the deserted seashore.
Glancing skywards
as if to ward off new invaders.
He kept his gaze low,
pausing then pouncing,
hands sifting piles of slippery pebbles,
“Makes a good walk” he called,
digging to retrieve his bounty –
two battered 20p coins.
“Like poetry?”
he called, I nodded
so with one hand cupped
to the side of his mouth,
warding off competition
from roar of the wind
on the incoming tide
he launched into a sonnet.
I clapped respectfully
as he continued to work the beach
as a showman might,
reaping his due rewards for such
a powerful performance.
Ann Perrin 