Rogue

Once,

on a shimmering day,

I saw the sea fly up

Llandudno Beach

and swallow our sunwashed

detritus –

faded towels, Hang Ten slops,Β trashy

novels, footprints

ingested,

as we scramble-watched

it from the boulders,

churning back out to the horizon

with the indigestion

of our lives,

not looking back

to wave

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36 thoughts on “Rogue

    • Morning, Cin (well, of course, you should be in the Land of Nod, but I think we share nocturnal sensibilities πŸ™‚ ) – I hope you get to live near the sea again – there’s nothing quite like it. Good dreams xx

  1. Gosh… this brings back many memories of walking round the Great Orme with my poor worn out Granny… and years later taking my mum and first born daughter… the Punch and Judy shows and trying to protect our fish and chips from predatory seagulls… I love the movement in this playful poem ~ you “scramble-watched” the heartless sea “churning back out.” Thanks Bluebee πŸ™‚

    • What lovely memories, Lazywednesdays – Punch and Judy shows brings back some memories for me too πŸ™‚ as do those thieving seagulls πŸ™‚

      I would imagine that the waters around the Great Orme are just as chilly as those off the coast of Cape Town (numb-bum-inducing!) πŸ˜€

  2. Haha – love it – I’m sure the wave got indigestion, especially from the Hang Ten slops πŸ˜‰ A wave of a poem – love the breathless one sentenceness of it all – yay for the wave and for bluebee.

  3. Oh…. Llandudno beach is in Cape Town? I assumed you were writing about Llandudno in North Wales where we spent childhood holidays! hehe – brings back nice memories anyway whichever hemisphere πŸ™‚

    • ha, ha – yes, an African beach called ‘Llandudno’ πŸ™‚ As you have said, memories created in different parts of the world, but connected

  4. Your words astonish this inlander. I have heard of but never seen such things. The detritus of life churned like indigestion, the sea not looking back to wave – wow!

    • Hello, Monica πŸ˜€ – the sea is quite something, with its fickle ways (and waves).

      As an inlander in your magical part of the world, you have the howling of wolves in your backyard, as it were – now that’s something I would love to experience first-hand

  5. NIce, Bluebee. I like the idea of watching one’s stuff (“detritus,” as you put it), fading out of one’s life, without having to make all the grand decisions involved to get rid of it. “And not [even] looking back to wave.”

    The fact of a “rogue” coming to do the deed, and wiping out some our creature comforts and the traces of our existence can indeed be unsettling, though, like the feeling of a stomach upset to the point of “indigestion.”

    Thank you for this poem– it speaks to me in a reassuring way.

    • Thanks, Elaine – I like that you found reassurance in this poem – I have a cupboard under the stairs that I would love someone to come and clear the detritus from without me knowing about it! (my mum has offered to do it on her next visit to the Antipodes but that wouldn’t be fair on her πŸ™‚ )

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