Driftwood


9 am on a beach of driftwood

brown bottles surrounding last night's fire


sweet scent of eucalypt

discarded by the waves and the Shoalhaven

a July gale then a heat so welcome


the drinkers gone with the stars

now an opened ski jacket

firing my chest


cracked grey arms in easy reach

one in hand to turn the fire

blasted orange to black


smoke disappeared in another gust

before swirling back to my eyes

Home Page  Home Page Non Rhyming Poems   |   Rhyming Poems   |    Limericks  |   Photos & Text   |   Photos & Text 2   |   Photos & Text 3  |   Girl Photos  |  About Peter