One hat, two hoods, my hand holds down,
as driving winds bombard me.
I reach the shore, I love these times;
with no one else around for miles.
Blue ‘sailors’ stranded on the rocks;
a simple, early life form,
brought in by last night’s fiercesome gale,
like turquoise unrolled condoms.
Within this cove, the wind is blocked,
but waves storm in regardless.
I’ve never seen them arc so high;
huge towering domes of glassy green.
But now I watch them splume and spill,
smash and pound
Grab one’s eyes and mesmerise.
Rush and crush and pulverise,
towards this rock strewn beach.
And air-light foam flies off like snow,
then rests on ground, soft frothy gold.
My fevered, hurting, weary mind
then fueled with potency.
A huge grin spreads across my face
for now I’m full of some rare charge.
That low down need to cry and scream
is vanished by this crazied sea.
This striking show of nature’s power
is blissful soothing balm to me.
Better than coffee,
better than speed,
- the surging rush from stormy seas.
By Alfie, Nov 06
Written at Queen’s Cove, Cornwall
My ‘blue sailors’ are actually known as By-the-wind-Sailor or Velella velella (Linnaeus)
Below is an exert from the Collins pocket guide – Sea Shore of Britain and Europe:
‘Freshly beached, this pelagic colonial hydroid is a beautiful blue colour.
The polps decay rapidly and the transparent, chitinous float and sail are
all that remain on the strandline. Millions may be beached on West
European shores following prolonged autumn gales.’