It's been a long time since I have been inspired to try my hand at poetry. I've never claimed to be a poet, but occasionally it happens. And as I was walking yesterday, these words started to come to me. I thought they were going to be descriptive prose but they've turned into this little prose poem.
The photo is a bit of a cheat - taken at a different time and in a different place, although close. But it does serve to illustrate one of the poem's lines.
I'm not really sure it's a finished poem yet. What do you think?
Behind the park, the sea was still – like glass –
and quiet – just a ripply murmur where gentle waves met the shore.
Below the wooden pier the posts seemed elongated,
then their reflections shimmered, for the breeze stirred the water
as I strolled by.
To the right, the wooded shores of Arne loomed dark against the sky and sea.
Far ahead the massive ferry liner soared over tiny boats
as it slid slowly and silently into its docking place,
two small spirals of grey smoke climbing from its funnels,
as I strolled on.
The sand was polka-dotted with prints of people, dogs and birds,
yet empty of life until, around the corner, one brave sunbather stretched out.
The line of beach huts closed and shuttered, except for one
which an old man painstakingly painted bright green before the winter,
as I strolled on by.