adventures in dysthymia

Sunday, September 24, 2006


Gray solitude – the wind sprayed
its name across the walls of winter,
those crumbling ice-water arcades

where I played pinball with my soul.
It should have been a summer dalliance,
not that storm-filled affair;

the sea is a gentle lover then.
She must grow cold, grow volatile,
humbling we who paid her court

and paid her toll. Each summer lover
fell away till I remained –
I in her gray solitude.

Stephen Brooke ©2006

one beach poem deserves another and, yes, it's 'about' surfing, at least superficially

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