On a beach.
Somewhere in the UK...


Yellow surrounds us.
Your hand is closed carefully around a dog whelk.

"The door lets in all your hopes and secrets," you whispered, magically.

"Will it keep them?" I asked, eyes like lollipops.

"Yes, of course. That is why there is a spiral staircase indoors, so the hermit crab can keep them in his attic, forever."


A strange concept
No thing is forever)

Part 1

My 3 year old hand clutched this trinket bestowed.
Solmenized now, as
Castellan of this tiny fortress.

Determined to defend its boundaries within, but
It was smaller in your kind hands,
Timid, almost.

Presenting this little world,
On the kingdom of my palm's furrows,
To Neptune, I silently pledged -

Overcrowded vows of competence,
Trust, constant care.
Launched them, tight and sound on the waves.

Other whelks lay beneath my pitying sandals.
Fragmented, battle scarred,
Broken under the tide's racking force.

I could not understand your shrewd smile,
But life had taught you
More than I could understand then.


Part 2 - present day.

It's seems, that day
Was forever ago.
The beloved trinket catches the yellow on the sill.
The tiny attic must be jam crammed now.

I press the "door" against my ear,
With faith that my secrets are silent,
That my hopes, at least, hold court in this utopia,but,
I think I hear Neptune tutting on the shores.

I have performed dutifully, I smile,
As hermit crabs are wont to do.
I have pinced my kingdom close,
Scavenged and cleaned, nurtured and reprimanded.

Soon, I know I shall be glad to abdicate, but,
The sea has not yet smoothed down all the ridges,
The attic reserves a shelf,or two,
And the sun is still warm on the Keep.

Poetry by 1LFD
Read 74 times
Written on 2021-07-26 at 16:37

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one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
What makes poetry so intriguing is the way each writer presents their vision. You weave magical visions into magical words. I think of the whelk, and know were I to write of it it would with few words, almost a sketch. You have skill with words that I can only imagine, but, as the current cliche insists: it's all good.

Lady Courtaire
Love the imagery here. The likening of the whelk shell to a fortress is effective and well-presented; I particularly enjoyed "I have pinced my kingdom close, Scavenged and cleaned, nurtured and reprimanded." Well done!