POEM: A Walk in the Dunes by John Bowie

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Sweeping sands
carved, sculpted and shaped.
Seasons captured in undulating mounds
rolling forever into the horizon.
Mirroring the waves they confront.
Sharp grassy peaks
and blown out bays,
hollows
and hideaways;
accenting changes
forever in flux.
 
Concrete boxes
are old war scars.
And incinerated wooded breaks;
sea blown victims.
A line of weed and carcasses;
rejects of the waters,
a line of dead between land and sea.
 
The body lay hidden
covered by a sandy shawl.
My shoes went in
and then legs, buckling.
The rancid air escaped
and days old sand,
sea and decay blew out
over the new.
 
Past the crest
is a pitted hard plain
of heather.
Hundreds of flowers
blues, bright whites and yellows
and trees take root.
Hanging on by
fragile tender tendrils.
 
As
 
Over this crest
lives are re-beginning.
Until the waters next overspill
and
like the lost body in the sands,
she reclaims
what’s her’s.


As featured in NECRO MAGAZINE #1 ‘Death Issue’ – Spring 2020


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