Poems by Graham Lancaster

Graham Vivian Lancaster

Grey Day

Sitting on a wall
Wrapped up warmly
In partial shelter of another
As the cold wind gusts past
Lifting spindrift off the grey ocean
Wet suited surfers slice
White swathe sharp turns
Away from tumbling foam
Up the face
Float the lip
Disappearing down
Amongst the foam
Then an arm
A head appearing
Breaking right
Out of the
Boiling soup
Gouging white tracks up
Grey banks
Propelling them shoreward
Yet somehow the prisming
Rain spot on my telephoto lens
Fascinates as I try not to
Snap the surfer through it

I Wonder

Sitting on my wall
Watching a boogie boarder
Streaking down the wave
Curling above
Turning at speed
Riding along the face
With legs trailing
And I wonder
What photographers
Did with photos
They took of me
Riding the waves
Without a wetsuit
When I was his age?
Could I be on a
Postcard somewhere?
And I wonder
At how quickly
The years passed.