Saturday: Beachcombing. Share what you love about the sea using #NationalMarineWeek 25th July- 9th August, more like two weeks poetry and artwork challenge I’d love to hear all about your favourite marine wildlife, the actions you take to help our sea life, and what the sea means to you. Final Seven Days: Saturday: Beachcombing, Sunday: Rocky Shorelines, Monday: Mermaids And SeaMonsters, Tuesday: Sea Shanties, Wednesday: Ocean Vegetation, Thursday: Deep Sea, Friday: What Should We Do For Sealife. Please submit your poems and artwork by DM to me, or send a message via my WordPress “The Wombwell Rainbow” contact screen or my FB “Paul Brookes-Writer and Photographer” Today Saturday: Beachcombing.

Beachcombing.

Useful resources:

https://www.shorelocalnews.com/the-beginners-guide-to-beachcombing/

https://www.countryfile.com/how-to/outdoor-skills/beachcombing-guide-things-to-find-along-the-seashore-and-best-beaches-in-the-uk/

https://www.mcsuk.org/blog/post/gillian-burke-plastic-

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John Hawkhead The BeachJohn Hawkhead BeachcombingJohn Hawkhead Purlescent shells

-John Hawkhead

Beachcombing, Lower Largo

Forget the kite surfers, the holiday makers.
The Forth’s sailing boats will be there, all day.

Keep your eye on the shoreline.

Look, one hundred years of sea glass,
a tumbler on the ocean, ground smooth,
frost-gems recycled by nature.
They call it drift glass,
those fragments in your palm,
once a beer bottle or fruit jar
from another’s life,
a remnant of some shipwreck,
now a gift of earrings.

-Maggie Mackay

Saturday beach combing

Beach roses
Make me cry

Pickets washed bare
Dune’s graceful curves

Hidden horizon
Hope offered

Silver foam
Chases plover

Chase me
I submit

I feel the smell
Of sailors yells
And maiden’s tears ashore

Laid my back on rock
And watched the clock
Of night sky rolling in

As sun sinks down
Below blue line
Dark silhouette
Embraces mine

Sea frost caresses me
Moist cold lustily
Grabs my bones

Grey mist expanse
you are now home

Gull screech
Soul search
I think I will die
If not here

-Laurel Joy Graceson

Beachcombed rocks

-Karin B

Collecting Sea Glass with Janis

for Janis Smith

We could be people in a painting,
two women arm in arm, laughing.
A sudden slap of sea air and sand

and still we laugh as we continue
our walk along the beach recalling
silly superstitions handed down

from our mothers: Never cross knives
or put shoes on a table. I confess
I once walked under a ladder.

‘Sea glass is the answer,’ Janis reassures,
‘find frosted red, rare pink or
kelly-green and wear it for luck
on a necklace of seaweed like a mermaid.’

-Catherine Graham (The poem was previously published in Reach Poetry magazine)

.instruct’d .

Posted on August 24, 2018
There will be a cotton hankie and a bag of beach combed pieces.

Some are very tiny so I tips them onto something white to see. Set up is lining them into rows onto the hankie. I make up categories for the rows and use even the tiniest bits too.

instruct'd 1 SBMinstruct'd 2 SBMInstruct'd 3 SBM

-sbm

Beach Combers

All the decades we wandered the beach
my hand in yours, driftwood, fossils, shells
cracked-open, trickle to an end with sun’s
Autumnal roseate set. The sea
claims you.

It was always the sea, even after you clawed your way
from tail fin to legs, bare feet stamping a pattern
along soft, wet sand. The sea sighed, let you go,
promised to return to lay claim.

Mind muddled by mermaid song, you rest
on your pile of pillows like a small child with
stunned, round eyes. ” How did I get here?”
You ask me while the waves roll in, tide rises,

licks at your feet. Skin the color of storm skies.
I answer ” You got old.” Because it is truth.
Denial, no more. Sea-salt corrodes everything,
dissolves castles we built from upended buckets of sand.

Water rises inside you, sponges soaked from lungs
that once held air enough to shout.

I draw your name in the sand with a stick.
Your face coalesces from the shadows, you and me,
that photograph last April, me, a princess, you,
our castle’s queen. Then you laid your body upon the beach,
bones and wrack yourself. Translucent skin, opal eyes,
waiting for the water.
Waiting for the water.

-Rachael Ikins

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