Photography & Poetry – P&P for all the RPG fans lol 😊 Cheers Steve 🙂 Detritus. A poem. Cast ashore by storied seas A mishmash of memories And undefinable surprises From the ocean’s turned out pockets A lost and found … Continue reading Upstart Photographer – Detritus
I take photos. I write poems. ‘Nuff said. Cheers Steve 🙂 Tallship. A poem. You have bound me as no ocean ever could— wrapped in chains and woven hemp, fit to shackle Hercules. Here I wait, as the wind cajoles … Continue reading Upstart Photographer – Tallship
Hand in hand, across a billion pebbled seeds. A heat frisson murmuring beneath our feet. Foaming cerulean paints the shore in shadow, while white light turns supple skin scarlet and melts concerns away. For more of my poetry, check out … Continue reading Beach Birthday. A poem.
I like to write poems. I like to take photographs. Sometimes I take photos of things. Here’s one, with an accompanying poem. I don’t normally write poems about things, but for my photos I can make an exception. Cheers Steve … Continue reading Upstart Photographer: Things #3
I long for the sea, to feel the bright whispers of the surf and salt between my toes, the sand crumbling beneath my feet. I long to float in her, to move my restless shell along her graceful curves, to … Continue reading Sea of Love. A poem.
Here’s a response I did for Uni. You might like to try the exercise out yourself. Cheers Steve 😊 Write a haiku (formal style) on the theme of water and then write a free verse piece (of no more than … Continue reading An Exercise in Poetic Styles
Dewdrops on my skin as I rise from your embrace. Your satin caress beckons and I return to your verge. Each twist and turn I take moves me closer to apogee, whence all efforts expire. Here within your tidal girth, … Continue reading Swim. A poem.
Driftwood, floating on percolating tides. Saltwater soaks fossil branches. Sand embraces nooks and crannies. Driftwood, meandering, awaiting a tactile, tacit end. Longing for a final, lasting beach head. The All or the Nothing is my first book of poetry, and … Continue reading Driftwood (Beached, part 3). A poem.
Tri-fin cutting foaming swathes in majestic, molten, crashing waves. Off-shore wind: the only stakes, paddling out to meet the break. To take his certain place in line, for the weaving surf to redefine. To forge a newborn legend free, the … Continue reading The Board (Beached, part 2).
The wild surf, like his impetuous heart, pounds and beats the sandy shore, like a pugilist with vanity to spare. Here the relentless, crashing waves make their mark in odd time signatures, in fluid and passionate syncopation, a symphony of … Continue reading The Wild Surf (Beached, part 1). A poem.
Hulls of broken ships, scattered like white noise. The sea bed, as black as a charcoal cellar. It welcomes sailors to their ends, bloated corpses sleeping in hammocks of crusted ribs, drunk on briny, antique wine. Coral wreaths and sawdust mouths; barnacles, the new tattoo that marks the passage from man to martyr. Here among the starfish and crustacean shells, unworried by the weather, seabed tales in whale song punctuate their empty dreams. Continue reading Dead Men Deep. A poem.
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