Shells line the shore, empty waiting to catch a child’s eye,

to be rearranged into shapes and swirls of imagination,

the click of the empty whelk homes amidst the chattering.

And the sheltering sand creeps into every gap it can find.

Laughter spills over to spread delight to the racing waters

that threaten the pearly patterns as they surge and swell.

Somewhere, the weeping cry of a seagull is drowned out

by a bawling baby belting out their needs into a rising tide.


Soothing voices are lost in the hushing of gentling waves,

and the birds rise squabbling over a butty bite left behind,

As the ocean takes back its domain, sticky tired families

go home, sand filled. Carrying memories of fun and foam.

Published by


margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.