The Beachcomber, a Poem
Ever searching for that special solitude,
That secluded stretch of beach,
Unmarked by footprints in the sand
Untouched by, and ultimately -
Unspoiled, by man.
The beachcomber does not need to socialise,
To converse or interact with another human soul
He seeks to just be one with nature,
Thriving in his solitary world.
He knows the phases of the moon,
And it’s effect on ocean waves.
At low tide when the sea recedes
He combs the beach for driftwood,
Or bits and pieces of sea-worn glass.
These treasures will adorn
His hidden palace behind the dunes,
A tossed together shack
In blind materialistic eyes.
A man of basic needs,
He asks little of society.
A net or crab-pot fashioned by his hands
From debris - another man’s junk
Provides fine seafood cuisine.
In a small garden plot
He grows vegetables from seed.
And barters with a nearby orchard
For the occasional fruit treat.
He wanders the beach shirtless and tanned,
Straw hat and battered denim shorts his only attire,
Picking up the occasional shell that catches his eye
Or a stranded star fish that needs returning to the water.
A small furry dog - a bitzer - once a stray
Tags long obediently by his side,
Chasing the occasional gull or crab for fun.
This is his world -
Why would he want anymore?
I spent much of my childhood and teenage years either living near the beach or pending most of my weekends and spare time there. You may not believe this, but I did dream of a life as a beachcomber when I grew up.
Of course, this never came to fruition. Parents, for some reason, don’t embrace “beachcombing” as a viable career for their offspring. So, it just remained an unfulfilled dream and became a nice subject for this poem. I hope you enjoyed it.
© 2019 John Hansen