BLACKENED STUMPS... (My poem about Titchwell's beach, Norfolk...)

 Blackened Stumps…

Incongruous, slick, blackened stumps

Spaced quite evenly,

Strode

Into a bitter North Sea’s

Grey approach, but they

Rode

The engulfing, mist-flecked tide,

Which swirled, eddied and 

Flowed…

So reminiscent of tree stumps, 

Charred

In Passchendaele mire,

Where murky water seeped upon the bloodied and 

Scarred…

Pete Ray…

Titchwell, June 2016… 

The sea has reclaimed much of the sand dunes at Titchwell, Norfolk, but some old groyne stumps still stand, blackened, slick and harried by the sea, rather like the stumps of damaged trees in a devastated World War 1 scene…