Snell Publishers

Independent e-publishers of fantasy, self-help and travel poetry

Sea Time

In honour of the New Year, the sea is giving us a show time. The waves are like houses and take down buildings, pavements, halt train lines and cast sand and sea weed over roads close enough to run awash.

There’s rain after rain and storm after storm. The rivers are full, the fields are full, the tides are high and winds blow day after day. The South West is staggering but still here, still loving the sea. Here is a poem I wrote for the waves which had reached 30 feet:


I am not a toy,
Breathed the thirty foot wave,
Descending on man’s seaside palace,
Biting at piers,
Eroding Jurassic cliffs.

I am not a toy, says the sea
As waves as tall as houses
Pound sea fronts,
Flood businesses, pubs, and newsagent shops,
I own this land, says the sea,
And when,
When it comes time for my share,
My sonship comes,

And so
Lands reclaimed by man for five hundred years,
Awake from a sleep
That says, Yes, yes,
I remember this salt tang,
This wet about my feet.

And ships do not go out to sea
And sailors
(And folk)
Stay home in their beds, quiet.