The War of Surf and Sand
An early poem, written many years ago. I was a resident of Salisbury in those days, when the beach-side possessed a far rougher character than it has today. I remember waking up each morning and crossing my living room to the glass door. This was my portal where I could witness the whole breadth of the ocean-the waves crashing against the shore, the thick churning choppiness of the water, and how close it could all be when acted upon by the shifting tidal current...
Thinking back, it was all certainly beautiful, but, in the context of environmental concerns, there was in the back of my mind, a constant tinge of ominous dread…
At morning’s rise, the coastal land
has pushed the sea far back.
But by afternoon it’s water
who is leading the attack.
By evening’s fall, it seems that land
has taken o’er the fight.
And while the people sleep, those two
will battle throughout the night.
Minute and hour, hour and day,
Day and month and year,
They fight across millennia.
Their strategies never veer.
And neither does the battlefield,
which barely holds the fray.
And though the fighters know it well,
They attack the exact same way.
The sea attacks in phalanx waves
that race towards the land.
They move with but one goal in mind:
to break the wall of sand.
But the beach-grass roots uphold the wall,
block water from crossing the line.
The same old traps, the same old tricks
and they fall for it every time.
Minute and hour, hour and day,
day and month and year,
they fight across millennia.
Their strategies never veer.
Yet the people show no worry,
t’wards this war of surf and sand.
They often bring their children ‘long
to play in no-man’s-land.
Sometimes the wave’s bombardment
strikes with untamed power.
Other times it’s more tranquil,
and more easily devoured.
But one thing is for certain:
weak or strong, they will attack.
And throughout it all will be the sand
to hold the invaders back.
Minute and hour, hour and day,
day and month and year,
They fight across millennia.
Their strategies never veer.
But activities further inland
may soon cause the wall to fail.
For the colors in the sky
are the signs of their betrayal
From bases north and south,
reinforcements heed the call
And I fear there’ll come a time
there won’t be any coast at all.
