Sea Here

The sea slurps

beneath the wooden slats,

near the bobbing boats,

little masts and care-worn flags.

Crates of fish come up –

hefted on swollen muscle;

grey and white flesh

slick with the sea, mouths

open too late;

jagged on lines.

The gulls have come –

red sea legs and tiny eyes

watching – always

for a slip, a morsel.

The sea behind the bay

rattles the stones,

flips the tiny shells,

they wink at a watery sun

7 thoughts on “Sea Here

  1. Haha, if that’s your ‘worst’, then we’re all buggered as far as I can see. Don’t stop going to Oamaru, one of our glowing sea-towns. Nobody should deprive themselves of that!

  2. Always love your sea-scapes, John, immediate and real, and the years of observation that go into a ‘casual’ line, that exquisite detail of the shells flipped and ‘winking’!

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