Strand Walk
By Pilkington Oblomov.

I go to the sea now first of all,
Where the blind dead drowned men lie,
With  salt water to lend a pall,
Where their bones shift, settle and sigh…

The work of the sea is the slow rolled  toil
Of a millstone grinding granite,
The Bone though deep in the sea’s soft soil,
This sea will split and span it.

Down amongst the grinding rocks
Where the sea splits bones, and weds
Bone to sand then coldly mocks
My walk amongst the dead.

Beneath your feet, who knows what woes,
In every nook and cranny,
Tread softly Sir, with those big toes
You’re treading on your Granny!

Pilkington Oblomov

Oblomov is from Southern Victoria and Tasmania, He was born in Poland and came here after the Solidarnosc troubles as a kid. He has been published irregularly in small magazines but has yet to achieve a wider recognition.

“Look here in the sand beneath your feet”