All artwork by Kendal Eaton. Front & Rear Cover - unfiltered photographs of Hastings pier, where he swims every day
"I was 50 years old when i relocated to St Leonards On Sea and suddenly wondered why it took so long to live by the sea, when now it feels like my natural habitat.It is pointless to assign 'feminine' or 'masculine' qualities, except to express the dynamics of what has become something of a partnership. All i can do is paint pictures and hope you catch - or are caught by - the connecting rhythms forming this current.
Crest of a wave
…scorched scattered criss-cross invisible to the touch flies through me and off me as chilled beams straight to you no matter how far you can calculate from just below the horizon
- we have travelled further than sound and light -
is always felt
before it is heard.
and not heard.
Audible is a statement
of intent. When you could hear a
did you get the point? You didn't.
Received, emitted, rejected,
audible, silent -
by resistance density is gauged.
a submarine threads a needle,
tickles its way through
strait and sound…
Did you hear
the birds and tide retreat
prior to tsunami?
You’ll find me every morning in the same place but
a different face.
You’ll need to spend time with me to get to know me
instead of lying
with your nose in the air sniffing out
the latest Ian Rankin, or getting sweaty with Jackie
Collins characteristic shenanigans; find
all my seductive soft-spots and blemishes,
my pitfalls avoid, if you want to feel safe with me…
I am the face in the convex mirror that exaggerates,
stretching the sky beyond its realm,
pulling it over me at each end, a duvet
too short for my bed…
Who said ‘the sea is flat’
a reliable means
to measure from,
height and depth, at what point is it
level? Try it.
When still it creeps stealthily,
without curling its tongue, pensive as a collie
Storm tossed scavenge
Hovering at breakneck for relief they cast
giant buckled clouds over a Georgian bay,
with scant regard for the antics
of naked revellers, suddenly overcast,
peering up from a plumb-core parasol
in a Bosche ‘Jardin…’
Tarnish the guilt
of an oriental dresser and see-through scantily clad insomniacs
raiding the fridge for midnight snack - every time you eat,