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[Vincent Turner]

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On stones shaped smooth by unrelenting waves
that lap their white-wash foam
upon rugged cliffs partly hollowed,
children bound the shore
whilst mothers hand-iron
wind flailed blankets,
planting them with timed precision
on sand they seem to fear.

To the east where cliffs cry white concern
Gulls fly the sky like crayons
on a school child's canvas, swirling to a drop
then jetting in a spin heavenwards.
There are words in their flight:

Simple lines of living- No mention
of work or anxious discussions
concerning economy. How enviable
The going-ons of their day-

Fish, shit, roam gather twigs for the home.

On stones shaped alike by unrelenting waves
mothers, like those not partnered at a prom
watch in envy, as their children  
mimic, with extended arms and limitless verve,
the aerial dance above.

[unpetitfauve]

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I liked this very much.  You took a familiar concept and presented it with great elegance and unique wording.  The image of the hand-ironed, wind-flailed blankets was excellent.

Two little thoughts:

In the first stanza, the word "whilst" is a little clunky.

The last line sounds good as is, but the word "above" may not be needed.  Perhaps read it aloud to yourself without "above" and see what you think sounds better.

[Vincent Turner]

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Thanks for the read, and input Amber.

Glad it worked for you.

Have been reading much of late, especially of poets from the so called "Movement", and other post war poetry. Feel an influence has occurred

Will consider your recommendations and see what happens

once again thanks for the read

Best Regards

Vincent