I find a lot of modern poetry is just word contortion and pretentious prattle. I thought I would give it a go and just let words dribble where they may in experimental fashion. But this is not what I call poetry.
forced deep in wet
with cuts like shells,
broken on the
beach - marooned, on
pebbles, smooth, bright,
as if lost - forgotten -
seaweed drowned, dappled,
fallen salted fronds - a dead
fish, yawning mouth, small
teeth, rotted flesh, embraced
death - pitted against the
detritus, plastic bottles, sliding
on the crusts of wave - mocking
towels strewn in disarray-
lost by fading swimmers, long
since gone away.
Ocean washed, cutting like shells broken on the beach,
sticks settled between toes forced deep in wet sand,
each marooned, isolated; hung on pebbled breast,
smooth, bright, as if lost, dropped by hidden hands.
Holding in soft arms, dead fish with yawning mouth,
seaweed drowned in dappled, fallen, salted fronds,
small teeth, rotted flesh, embraced by liquid death;
nestled, pitted against the detritus in final bonds.
Plastic bottles sliding on the crusts of endless days,
mocking, rising on the breath of ocean, falling onto sands;
drenching shores draped with towels, strewn in disarray
lost by faded swimmers, gone to distant lands.