At Holcombe Beach (I.P.)

Cherry
Poem of the week

By Silver Spun Sand

Sun, 20 Apr 2014
  • 5411 reads
17 comments
 
“And when I have come with happy heart
to sixty years and ten...I’ll bury my foolish books
and break my futile pen and seek a tranced
and tranquil isle that dreams eternally.”
“Beachcomber” Robert William Graves
 
The deckchairs incessantly flapped –
red and blue flags flaunt a fresh, east wind, 
where an old man doggedly sat, wrapped
in his coat made from best Harris tweed – 
flecked brown and green, blowing free.
Each day he would stroll to the sea, 
walking arm-in-arm with ghosts of the past, 
where he and his wife would rest for a while
drink camomile tea from a thermos-flask.
 
Smiles to himself as he sees a young girl –
water wings on, exploring the rock-pools,
looking for treasures he’d often hunt for
as a lad...barnacled crabs and delicious, 
black seaweed – went pop in one’s fingers.  
Then a kind of stabbing – shoots on up
through his arm...through his jaw; a vice 
clamps his chest. He struggles to breathe.
 
As the pain slowly eased, he rests his eyes
until... the girl with the water wings – knelt
by his side. Are you alright, she enquires.  Rude
to stare, I know it is, but you seemed lonely.
I can swim, and you can watch me, if you like –
eyes, brimful of tomorrows.  I’d be honoured, 
he replies, as with a grin, she hands him the wings.  
Don’t need these, not anymore. They’re yours,
instead.  After all, you are my new friend.
 
Memories flooded back; don’t rush to grow up
he ached to tell her, as he watched her chase
the waves, recalling what his dad had said,
Childhood’s a place, son, and not a time.  
Then, in a trice, she was lost from sight.
With a gulp and a splutter, a playful wave
had knocked her over, but she’d soon
jumped up – as large as life.  Out of the blue,
that same, sharp pain – making him flinch.
Swim! Swim for me! Breathless, he yells.
You’re doing fine!
 
Indeed you are, but come and get dry! a voice cries.  
It’s tea-time, very soon, and thank the nice gentleman – 
mind...The one – sleeps, and dreams – the one’s a boy, 
again...inside, and as the sun sinks low – a golden ball...
runs to catch it, lest it’s caught by the tide. Brine laps, 
warm on his ribs, sand – soft under his feet.  A backward 
glance; the girl, all alone now, on the shore. Goodbye,
little friend. Should be me thanking you, his words – 
stolen by the wind. Never did learn to swim, but 
you gave me wings – taught me to fly.
Certificate PG
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Silver Spun Sand Poems
Spiritual
Inspiration Point (work that responds to our weekly writing cue)

Comments

Submitted by celticman on

Childhood’s a place, son, and not a time. ' visited and revisited. A holiday from the self. Lovely. 

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

...and thanks for popping by to visit, celtic.  I'll put the kettle onsmiley

Tina

 

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

nice interplay of the two, generations apart. The older enjoying his memories – but maybe a longing for resurrection? Rhiannon

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Again, methinks you are certainly right with that remarkable intuition of yours, Rhiannonsmiley  Most certainly.

Tina

 

Submitted by blighters rock on

This reminded me of M R James' 'Oh, whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad', a ghoulish tale of a similar nature. Great stuff.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Hi there,  Richard. I certainly see what you mean - with the setting for it being on the East Anglian coast and all.  If my memory serves me correctly, babe in arms though, I was at the time, of coursesmileythe story was adpated for television in the late nineteen sixties.  I've never viewed my bedsheets in the same way ever againwink

Thanks so much for reading, and I'm glad you enjoyed my little tale.

Tina

 

Submitted by Bee on

Oh my goodness, Tina - that's beautiful. The end is breathtaking. 

Bee

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

So glad you thought so, Bee.  I have been working on this poem for literally years, so your words mean very much to mesmiley

Tina

 

Submitted by Starfish Girl on

This is lovely, full of great memories.

And does he die at the end, if so not painfully but with memories and 'hope'.

Lindy

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Lindy, whether he dies, or not, depends on you...the reader.  But if you consider he does, I certainly think you are right about the memories, and hope, of coursesmiley

Many, many thanks for reading, and for your lovely comment.

Tina

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

A fantastic poem Tina,  I love the way you wrote the old man's thoughts and how at the end he thanked the girl for wings to fly.

I also enjoyed the second stanza, with all its wonderful descriptions of the young girl exploring the rock pools.

An enjoyable read.

Hope you had a good Easter by the way.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks, so much, Jenny.  Pleased you enjoyed this, and yes...had a lovely, if quiet, Easter, and I hope you did toosmiley Ate much too much chocolate, of course...that's if one can eat too much chocolatewink

Tina

 

Submitted by Linda Wigzell Cress on

This is beautiful and haunting, Tina. The final stanza had me welling up.

Linda

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

So pleased you got so much from this, Linda, and that you took the trouble to tell me, so beautifully.

Tina

 

Submitted by VeraClark on

This made me feel some emotion, Tina. Talk about no holds barred heart twanging. Child and elder together is always poignant, but the way you phase the start and the end, both coming together to make life meaning is fortifying. What a restorative and deeply moving piece. 

 

Submitted by MJG on

red and blue flags flaunt a fresh, east wind, harris tweed, flasks of camomile tea, dogged sitting and the sense of life beginning to spread its wings with child and end with him... loved eyes brimful with tomorrows...I'd get rid of a 'kind' of stabbing, just leave stabbing and the 'one's' just use fingers - helps tighten and you won't lose anything of sense... it's very good x

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Glad you think so, MJG.  Shall get onto those changes.  I agree, and thankssmiley

Tina