Poetry by John Grey
AS A BEACH BOY The tern floated atop the waves like a blossom. The wily pelican trailed the fishing boats. I ran back and forth along the pier. I never did hold a moment too long. Until my hands reached out to catch a flying dolphin. A ride on its back was all I would sit still for. THE SEA, THE SHORE I’m captive – treating the blustery grasses, the trembling brush, to my circumspection. I yield, succumb to the coastline, relive those old, never-to-be-forgotten childhood moments on the beach. Wind off the seas, I collect its tang in my nostrils, like information from the deep, translated by the adolescent boy who once combed the shore for sea dollars, who strode atop the dunes like riding a humpbacked camel. On blue mornings such as this, I’d venture out as far as the undertow, feel its pull on my toes then step back. Back into now, when I’m so much older, less accepting and more conscious of being alive. Meanwhile, the sun lights the same old fire in the sky, ski
