So much modern poetry is just word contortion and pretentious prattle. I thought I would give it a go.

Sticks settled


between toes,


forced deep in wet




ocean washed 


with cuts like shells,


broken on the


beach – marooned, on


pebbles, smooth, bright,


as if lost – forgotten –


seaweed drowned, dappled,


fallen salted fronds – a dead


fish, yawning mouth, small


teeth, rotted flesh, embraced


death – pitted against the


detritus, plastic bottles, sliding


on the crusts of wave – mocking


towels strewn in disarray-


lost by fading swimmers, long


since gone away.


About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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