on the beach, a brick

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The beach is magnificent in the morning. Hardly any people. I see if I can recognise the footprints. Sometimes mine are the first! I follow along in the steps of a bird or a dog or a local.

Today though I saw a brick. It seemed strange to see a brick on the beach. It made little poems buzz in my head as walked along. That’s the thing about poems — they can start anywhere, anytime, any place. A brick seems like a strange place to start a poem but I will give it a go. Keep an eye out for things that surprise you — then start writing!



The Brick

On the beach

a golden brick, maybe

it travelled across the Tasman Sea

in a beautiful pale green boat

with an owl and a pussy cat,

singing songs for the moon

that I see soft and white

in the morning sky.

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