This poem was first published in the spring 2013 issue of Burley. The author retains copyright.
The pebbles in sun on shore-side shine, and tell
Their truth as crushed old mountains meeting deeps
That smashed them slowly, aeons ago, without
Any pity or knowledge. Forever they whisper;
Whisper to victims mute, and softly speak
Of mysteries, endless shifting places, so far
From warmth and light that darkness turns grey-green.
Amidst the sways of rigid calcium;
Amidst the empty homes of creatures gone,
This soliloquy between foes so old
That enmity has sunk to sun-dappled smoothness
Which skips out, joyful, from the hand of those
That come to eat their sandwiches and burn –
Until red skin and sun, as one, depart.
If one did wait with sleeping sand, alone,
The tides, awash around their naked feet,
Will sing of others whom did wait the same
And hope to hear the depths elusive
With gentlest breath, murmur – to none but they.
The ocean voice is known to dead and lone
That mutely listen, at the quiet hour.