Monday, August 11, 2008

Sea Air

One moon, many shapes
nightly changing through August
many moons, one self.

The holiday air
is cool, like flasked juice - I walk
the sea-wall again:

gulls on warm air-drafts
glide still in stretch-winged ballet,
banner trailing plane.

Headlines in black and white, news -
a rasped flute happening -

the thermal cameras needed
for hidden earthquake victims.


This writing, a phase,
waxing lyrical, waning,
breathing in and out -

a tin-whistle player flauts
for copper and silver coins;
his breath makes music.

The miniature railway
is a great way to travel.


Dave King said...

I really enjoyed the poem. The last couplet was a bonus.

Lucas said...

Dave - Many thanks for your comment. It is much appreciated.
We went to Brighton just recently and it was too windy to go on the Folks Railway - so it was nice to recreate the warm weather in the poem.

Plutarch said...

How accurately you get " gulls on warm air drafts... in stretched wing ballet"!

Lucy said...

Lovely, mercurial poem, I really like this one, your inner reflections and outward reflections coming and going...

Lucas said...

Many thanks, Joe, and Lucy for your comments.