I watched a seagull flying high
from an ebbing winter tide
in the sunshine, high above
his wings spread out and splayed with pride

And I’m pleased I had my camera
for that most exquisite sight
A fleeting moment captured
of that gull in perfect flight



The Photographer

My eye in the lens
I capture to see
all of the beauty
here around me

Then back in my study
I’ll write in my book
Words to the pictures
with my camera I took



The beholder’s eye

Caught in the rocks on the beach from a storm
an old length of rope from a ship
Entangled and twisted by the hand of the sea
the land has it firm in its grip

Discarded, bereft; its purpose abused
mere flotsam to most who pass by
But to me it has beauty, a sculptural form
caught in the beholder’s eye



Silhouetted teazles
golden in the breeze
Captured by the sunset
Brought me to my knees

Not just to take the picture
But also for the sight
Sheer beauty there reflected
in the fading evening light


Interesting things II

I often search along the shoreline
where the tidemark’s clear and good
for interesting shells and stones
or bits of sea-washed wood

Sometimes there are stones with holes
or lengths of knotted rope
The choice is ever-changing
and there’s never lack of scope

Then later when these things are dry
I will use then every one
Shaped to form as testament to
the sea from whence they’ve come

Driftwood sculptures on the wall
or free-standing on their own
The treasures from the shoreline saved
and each one given home


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