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| walking along the wet sea wall thinking the words will come from somewhere on the wind on the waves BOB LUCKY |
| sea's murmur— the chapped lips of the light keeper DANA-MARIA ONICA |
| breathless bay accepting and releasing each wave ANDRÉ SURRIDGE |
| From the eroded dune, a cascade of sea oat roots hold the wind together AMY WATKINS |
| Pero’s Bridge - the dock’s ice gathers in new year resolutions ALAN SUMMERS |
| the tolling of the ledge buoy flood tide CATHERINE J.S. LEE |
| high sea dawn— a green hill turns to an endless light of heavens SASA VAZIC |
| sandflats a pebble patinated just like an egg MATTHEW PAUL |
| a pocket beach tucked amid boulders, sea wrack and pebbles, the voice of the waves the only conversation M. KEI |
| jetty stones shaped to my back the twists of terns JOHN BARLOW |
| back from fishing -- a couple of pebbles in my pocket First appeared in Full Moon, Issue 10) PETAR TCHOUHOV |
| the white coins of clam shells scattered on a beach; the wealth of the world beneath my feet M. KEI |
| a wide sky - the daylight moon lingers shell-soft KATHERINE GALLAGHER |
| seashells left by the tide... wishing you were gone so I could forgive you MEGAN ARKENBERG |
| empty but still attached these two clamshells something like a husband and wife M. KEI |
| sand flows through my fingers as do our years together— I hold my gaze into the vanishing point DRU PHILIPPOU |
| seaside we talk about resuming the affair... these pools that yesterday were ocean MEGAN ARKENBERG |
| all of me misses you... the dying of storm waves on a cold shore KIRSTY KARKOW |
| I feel you swaying on the edge of my soul wave and seagull in a brief touch DANA-MARIA ONICA |
| walking these miles and miles of trackless sand— wearing out thoughts of our time left together DRU PHILIPPOU |
| Gathering drift woods She is slowly collecting Painful memories JANE SCOTT |
| Flintstones on the beach On houses and garden walls The ocean’s footnote JANE SCOTT |
| barking at the fisherman’s dog a herring gull NIKOLOVA MAYA |
| it's hard to take my eyes from these gulls riding the wind and slanted rays of sun... the whiteness of their bellies KIRSTY KARKOW |
| saltwater taffy —stuck inbetween a sea gull's toes AN'YA |
| A mirror, adorned with shells and Welsh-speaking Gulls. RACHEL GREEN |
| free-flowing seagulls kinetic masterpieces in the autumn sky BARBARA A. TAYLOR |
| floating above the bay bridge wings spread still seagulls collect my thoughts scatter them into sky ANDREA ROSE |
| falling down onto rush hour traffic seagull feathers ALAN SUMMERS |
| Dream fogs the headland. I wake from atlantic sleep to a gannet dawn. SUSAN RICHARDSON |
| who was it named this sea that sings to me cools my toes and heals my soul Atlantic ANNETTE MINEO |
| low tide... a gull for each piling (First published in Asahi Shimbun) PATRICK SWEENEY |
| seas engulfed in fog, unseen the albatrosses shout from everywhere VASILE MOLDOVAN |
| the white colonnade washed by ocean light-- vinegar wind MATTHEW PAUL |
| the brick pillbox pummelled by easterlies… shrimping redshank (First published in Blithe Spirit) MATTHEW PAUL |
| winter evening... the boat surrenders to the ship's warmth RITA ODEH |
| third date -- the slow drift of the rowboat in deep water ROBERTA BEARY |
| the sun setting over the yacht lot chelsea piers JUDY KAMILHOR |
| homeward bound the arrowing wake of a trawler CATHERINE J.S. LEE |
| Montauk Beach I Returning, the wind Fills the bag I brought for shells, Propels me Eastward, Sideways parachute Parallel to the shingle - Windsock pointing "home". ELLEN PECKHAM |
| a scallop boat emerges fades emerges sea smoke rising CATHERINE J.S. LEE |
| beachcombing... a periwinkle rotates deeper into itself ALAN SUMMERS |
| just rain on a beach - at the sea's edge a black umbrella DIANA WEBB |
| Waves fill the footprints with coquina--bright seeds, next season's necklaces. AMY WATKINS |
| sunbathing her tummy button holds grains of sand ANDRÉ SURRIDGE |
| warm darkness the mouthing of the tide moving over stones ELAINE RIDDELL |
| letting the youngest carry the bucket and spade the give of soft sand ANDRÉ SURRIDGE |
| summer stillness the crackle of driftwood in our shore fire AN’YA |
| incoming tide he digs the moat a little deeper SUSAN CONSTABLE |
| against a smooth sea a whale lifts - the weight of it KATHERINE GALLAGHER |
| The incoming tide Washes sandcastles away. Buggrit! Start again. ALAN McKEAN |
| Foam meringues lace the waving tide, wind hurls them fast and far away VIVIEN JONES |
| St. Martin's nude beach people all shapes and sizes celebrate their flesh CHRISTINE BRUNESS |
| over the humpbacks’ fluke prints the sooty shearwaters JOHN BARLOW |
| where the waders were the dog's paw prints JOHN BARLOW |
| in bloodied waters scientific research-- the whales’ last swim BARBARA A. TAYLOR |
| under swaying fronds on palm-fringed shores watching ocean swells I pray for the dolphins frolicking north BARBARA A. TAYLOR |
| Castle in the sand the head of a fly swatter serves as portcullis T. STRAY |
| breaking waves an oystercatcher catches my eye ANDREA ROSE |
| Charcoaled paper sea curled to black, split to tourquoise, felt through the pitched deck. MARTYN HALSALL |
| wavelets break on the beach my questions are answered before I ask them ELAINE RIDDELL |
| high tide spraying over the sea wall salt on my lunch ADELAIDE B. SHAW |
| Neap tide rising; bundled in warm coats we walk through salted spray. RACHEL GREEN |
| Woman on the pier, throws her ring into the sea... smiles as the tears flow. CHRISTINE BRUNESS |
| The beach in winter: angry drunk throws a bottle screams, "Where is everyone?" CHRISTINE BRUNESS |
| the sand tears cut through the wind’s face on Brighton pier as we wait in line for the miniature train PATRICIA PRIME |
| on a rock wall waiting for the tide to give back the beach ADELAIDE B. SHAW |
| Punch & Judy-- his grip tightens HELEN BUCKINGHAM |
| After the storm left a beach full of jellyfish I wore my high boots. RACHEL GREEN |
| shoreline ice-- the squish of a wet sock all the way home KIRSTY KARKOW |
| by the river... my rough dream drifts towards the sea RITA ODEH |
| old friends strolling the promenade gossiping with the sea SANDY HOLLIS |
| full of wine on the promenade the blue moon LUIS CUAUHTEMOC BERRIOZABAL |
| beachcombing the feel of kelp slime in my hands AN'YA |
| fossil older by the second HELEN BUCKINGHAM |
| autumn by the sea . . . all the razzle-dazzle of the rainbow HELEN BUCKINGHAM |
| Wan Chai Promenade apartment dwellers walk dogs in the winter sun two black kites glide overhead in tighter, lower circles BOB LUCKY |
| sitting alone in the seaside café my apple pie arrives with an extra squirt of imitation cream (from Snow About To Fall - Snapshot Press, 2006) JOHN BARLOW |
| a glorious day on golden shores, but driving home against the western sun I am a nervous wreck) BARBARA A. TAYLOR |
| from the city he moved here with me to my little fishing village never asking why I call this ocean my own ANNETTE MINEO |
| A wide calm settles Homer's saltwater epic; night brings sounds of wings MARTYN HALSALL |
| Coney Island after the Mermaid Parade: apocalypse, sequins JUDY KAMILHOR |
| Fools from the cities covet that land to build what, - a drowning city? MARTHA HUBBARD |
| in the tropical air rainbow lorikeets - a mango restaurant closed ALAN SUMMERS |
| resting in the shade of beach umbrellas we drink tea and then walk barefoot so as not to scare silence PATRICIA PRIME |
| Salted salmon in the teeming rain my back teeth search for bones (First published in Mayfly) PATRICK SWEENEY |
| left by the tide an empty crisp packet-- 'low in salt' HELEN BUCKINGHAM |
| Tired audience And faded comedians. October pier end. ALAN McKEAN |
| Morecambe Bay Bandstand
Blue Islands of paint On a desolate dance floor Crumble under foot. Fraying Jacks flapping Falling still when winds drop A distant band plays. Become the memory Picture the scene bandstand full Scents of salty air |
| Just become lovers
Stepping awkwardly on toes Sun shimmers above. Vinegary fumes seep From rotten steps that creak The shared seaside meal. A roofless Café Mouldy deckchairs left behind Victims of change. |
| Nothing but relics
Decaying treasures of time Hidden in the shade. Defeated I buy An airbrushed vision of then A5 black and white. Parting with silver The cost of history grows The more the past fades. VINCENT TURNER |
| day moon
a lone gull floating on the water SUSAN CONSTABLE |
| late dusk -
on each black wave an edge of froth ADELAIDE B. SHAW |
| a shining bay -
moon on the handrail of the footbridge KATHERINE GALLAGHER |
| Frolicking at dusk
in seas of tranquillity zero gravitas ANN BUSBY |
| In darkness
once we walked along the sea front, guessing if the tide was in or out. SOPHIE REYNOLDS |
| I know
these pearly white shells in the wet sand are happiest left to the moon and its tide ANNETTE MINEO |
| as a small girl
with my water colors & my brush I got to know the secret light that plays here beside the sea ANNETTE MINEO |
| the moonlit path
running across the sea... homeward NATALIA KUZNETSOVA |
| sunset sea views
great party, another year disappears over the horizon with its tail on fire ANDRÉ SURRIDGE |
| PROMENADE A 3LIGHTS Gallery Presentation Curator & Photographer LIAM WILKINSON Copyright © remains with the authors of each poem. Artwork Copyright © Liam Wilkinson, 2008 |
| This Spring we present a selection of haiku and tanka from the edge. Where seagull meets wave, where wave meets shore and where shore meets foot— this is the Promenade. |
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| blue
of the seaside gives way to inland green - to be blue again… LIAM WILKINSON |
| under the pier she kisses me quick, squeezes me slow – danger signs rattle in the wind LIAM WILKINSON |