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Firewalker faith must be required

to hop this white-hot sand

and now all zones are tinged with fear

of sunburn or combustion.


We stretch naked in the dunes

until guards arrive on decency patrol,

ice-cream sellers melt away,

persistent surfers finally desist.


The sea's an aquarium of coke cans

anyway, and plastic in the throats of birds.

Interpid snorkelers beware:

just man-made stuff to find down there.


December 2022, Dear Reader Poetry, Editor Charley Barnes.









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john short

Sat 18th Mar 2023 11:26

Thanks guys for the positive words.

Hi Laura, haven't seen you around at open mics in Liverpool recently. I usually go Liver Bards first Tuesday of each month. It's 7.30 for an eight o' clock start (at Ma Boyle's) More info on the FB page or contact Ali Harwood for a slot.

The poem began as a doodle and then kinda fell into place.

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Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh

Sat 18th Mar 2023 09:42

Than you John.
...an aquarium of coke cans.
A sad scene becoming increasingly familiar.

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Stephen Gospage

Fri 17th Mar 2023 17:29

A fine poem, John, with a lot in it.

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Laura Taylor

Fri 17th Mar 2023 14:42

Hello John, long time no speak!

Great poem this. ice cream sellers melting away, ha. It flows, sounds amazing, lots of pertinent points in there. Loved it.

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