Summer Beach

… The encroaching threat of occupation (Channel Islands, 1940) …

Close your eyes.



Soft sand,

a gentle cushion,

warm honey light,

fluttering from the sea.

Ice water,




Cold shadows coming,

crawling across,

tarnishing day,

jolting a shiver –

convecting currents

ballooning above

in the untold dimensions

of the massive of your mind …


Eyes closed.




Laughter floating,

lapping away to uncover the silence behind.

Your back to the earth, facing

down to the sky,


forward to


The faint coast of France

no more a dream,

smoke hanging

as fires sprout.

Minutes trickle

to night, drawing

us to our doom.


With no return?

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