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

 

sand,

 

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.

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About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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