Never

It may be cold. There may be wind as harsh as a blade. It will soak me to the skin. Yet it will never. Ever. Be repetitive.   © Tom Tide 2017  

Aberystwyth

I lived on the seafront for two years. For two out of three years of my degree, my calendar was dictated by the waves and seasons. June sunbathing on the stony shore after lectures. November kitchen tea-sipping, whilst  gazing at waves battering Victoria Terrace bringing with them pebbles that strafed the road. Cycling down the … More Aberystwyth

Night Sea

Porthgwidden, that most welcoming of sands. Blue in the sapphire moonlight. At moonrise, the waves are amplified. Becoming the soft breathing of sleeping giants. Gulls glide ghostly above the midnight black waters as the surf draws contoured hills on the sloping tideline.   Busy ships twinkle: stars in a velvet sky, with no horizon. All … More Night Sea

Take Me

Bathwick. Bath. 1927. Valeria had watched the man for over a week now, and always in the early morning. From her solitary table on the balcony terrace she would first hear the gentle slap and pull of his oars working the river, then see him glide slowly in to view. Straining on the oars and … More Take Me

Seas Of St Ives

Cerulean. Aquamarine. Cobalt. Sage. Sorrel. All undulating in shimmering bars. Matt and impenetrable in cloud, yet translucent and brilliant when brought to life by light. A spectrum of water colours swirling langorously and loyally around an achingly beautiful enclave. Surrounded almost entirely by tides, that have sulpted the deeply loved land as they do driftwood, all … More Seas Of St Ives

Brothers In Arms

Sometimes you have to cross great voids With arms that know you well; That feel, before the bend arrives That you are steeped in hell.   That scoop you up, then drive you on, To make your final stand; Then jettison your flailing arms To lunge toward the sand.   The time will come to … More Brothers In Arms

Harvest Moon

  I searched frantically for you. Carving around bends and cutting across hills Suffused with evening shadow. Eyes peeled and neck staining; All for a glimpse. My night vision blurred by headlights I all but gave up: Then there you were. Just a glimmer, me playing peekaboo peering through thorny hedgerows to crest a hill … More Harvest Moon

Mosaic

The whole world washes up here. Everything, from the Romans up. Heaven only knows who came before. Drifting in with the tide, or spinning downriver. Mingling, stirring the melting pot. Beachcomb: hold a palatte within your palm Crafted from earth, spun briefly then returned. To drift, lovingly enrobed by shifting sands.   © Tom Tide … More Mosaic