POEM TITLE Sea Glass
POEM
Beaches combed North, East and West,
Quench a simple pleasure,
Blackness on sea, a favoured haunt,
The hoard is sea glass “treasure”.
Silent haar fades the bridges…hush,
Just whispers of distant tide,
And pip pip pipping eager oyster catchers,
Trilling mudflats cold and wide.
Washed ashore, by the hull,
Of the “ship that never sailed”,
The Firth of Forth receded,
First trinket of history unveiled.
On jellied sand just further out,
An amber nugget shoaled,
Clorox bottle from salt pan works?
When sea salt was our White Gold.
Green spark on a shingle ridge!
Ah…a frosted beer bottle neck,
A drunken launch from the Lobster Pot?
Or rebel remnant of a shipwreck?
Almost missed but spotted,
Blue on blue mussel shell,
With scars of untold voyages,
Once a medicine bottle or ink well?
One last look by the harbour wall,
High tide had swept it in,
White, pretty, worn, but patterned still,
A sailors local sweetheart, perfume ? gin?
Never a dull era over centuries past,
A sea breeze rich with anticipation,
Castle, Port and seaside village,
Blackness floods the imagination.
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