Sea change
A trio of poems highlighting Auckland's inconvenient truth of erosion
Hopelessly Drifting (Cheltenham Beach)
Sifting soft pearly sand grains through long, spindly fingertips
Seagulls shrieking, soaring, diving; children running, smiling, giggling
Dogs splashing, azure blue sea lapping, time standing quietly still
Memories of glorious Summer days; loved ones frolicking in the blazing sun Wide-eyed rock pool and treasure hunt adventures for both young and old Rangitoto frames this joyful slice of paradise – here today, gone tomorrow... We weep into the innocent worn torn shells as Cheltenham beach washes away before our very eyes…
Sinking Memories (Narrowneck Beach)
Surrender Our Soles ... Once standing proud, battered, bruised bushes clinging to ragged cliffs
Holding on to dear life preparing to weather yet another fierce storm
Rocks falling, crumbling; once small, now large, littering the winding beach Waves crashing as swimmers and sailors gulp for air, much like the native trees Rip wildly raging, tugging at innocent victims and their tender heartstrings Eroding carefree memories of boating, beach walks and rock pool discoveries Bleak, banal sea wall forever being raised yet its purpose falling on deaf ears Look up, not down, nor away; see it, feel it, believe it …we’re all on watch now.
Caught in the Swash (Devonport Beach)
Swinging in to the future , creak, creak go the swings, gay laughter of children echoing around the town Flying high above the mighty Devonport seas spotting iconic Bean Rock from afar Joy and innocence surrounding the air and sunshine flooding the senses Families picnicking; babies wobbling; toddlers crawling; dogs swimming Caught in a time capsule the innocent young children continue to run and play and dream Treasuring this peaceful slice of seashore they will return to, forever calling it home Yet like the swings, the tide continues to rise higher almost beyond our reach We peacefully ground ourselves deliciously savouring the salty sea breeze on our faces.
About the Creator
Vicky Keenan
Born writer, storyteller, raconteur. Trained copywriter, editor, proofer, poet. Scriptwriting student - future playwright. Proud feminist, mother-of-one, linguist, Francophile, domestic violence advocate. Keen observer of people. And dogs.
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