On Joppa Rocks

Down between stripes of stiff strata,
tilted by time and tectonics, serrated sides
sawing skywards, sit small stranded stretches
of still glassy seawater.

Picking our way care free among
the strewn seaweed matted boulders,
care full on young old-plimsolled feet,
prising up a slippery stone, a rapid flip
suddenly sunning the watery underworld
and us searching for movement, probing,
squinting eyes peeled for that perfect partan.

The long narrow strip pools,
slowly trickling back to the source,
rich briny furrows in the encrusted ridges
hiding an accidental harvest.

Amongst the half shells, coarse sand and
interesting rusty lumps; a slow stretching
starfish, darting translucent shrimplets,
a too small green crab twitching, pincers poised,
as we scrambled over the rough rock rows,
tender calf’s brushing cheese grater barnacles.

Playfully poking glistening anemone globs,
pressing huge old snails stickily together,
laughing interlopers amid spitting beds of
bearded mussels as the sun arced over us
in the patchy blue sky, gulls reeling, lost in time,
an endless summer down on Joppa rocks.