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Fingers



Fingers of foam stir up sand,
Tickling the grains like a pianists hand,
White water glistens in the morning sun,
One wave spent becomes over and done.
Backwards the movement a symphony of time,
Cast your eyes on this vision fine,
Hear the whisper of the taunting sea,
Water is controlled yet still is free.
A dormant mountain with it's perfect cone,
Stands out boldly there all alone,
Following the coastline from left to right,
A thinking man gets things right.
Refreshed and invigorated in this space,
Again prepared for the human race,
What a contrast from now until then,
Phones and traffic or the clerical pen.
About this poem;-
A walk down the beach looking out towards Rangititoto Island,
seeing the waves and sea how exhilerating and refreshing that
activity, it gives a break and ensures you can resume life in a
better state of mind.
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Submitted on October 15, 2013

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stan brierly Claim this poet

I have been writing poems for forty years and written about all sorts of things. Somehow I get creating streaks and can write up to 4 or 5 poems at once of varying subjects. I find it is a good way to record events of the day and bring history to life.The mental aspect is a balance against keeping fit,work and life in general. more…

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