The terns and gulls are circling
gulping the river-mouth air.
They come in, drunk with hunger
to settle among the silver river waves,
pilfering the tiny life, water pearls
flicked to sun and sea.
The huts here are faded yellow
and candy-cane green.
They are anchored in the sand,
salted windows to the east;
holiday homes with simple shelves
and memories locked in cupboards
They rise early or at noon;
men in gumboots and shorts.
They taste the light and the air,
look east and west.
They will do something or nothing.
It is that sort of day
New Zealand Poetry 
Sets the mood of the sea theme this John you set the mark all the time with the poetry you write, you suit to the language to which you write, I am lucky to have you and the others aboard on here, one day I aspire to write as well as you do
LikeLike
Thanks for the compliment, Jason, but I have an awful lot to learn, and people here show me up every day.
And you write very well.
I was told once the best possible thing to do to write well was the read well; read good poetry (and prose) and bad and all the good stuff will rub off – or become ingrained.
LikeLike
That’s such a wondefully composed picture of fishermen and place; that little detail of the ‘water pearls’ (those little drops of water that flit so briefly on the surface) I find just exquisite, and the whole mood of the looking east and west, the decision one way or another. I think this is one of your best, John! Yes, we’re lucky to have you on board; keep reeling them in!
LikeLike
Thanks, Peter. I’ll have to go to the beach more often.
Thanks for the feedback; always appreciated.
LikeLike