Rediscovering the lost poetry of childhood

[Philatone]

Hey Ca ne!
I apologize that right now I don't have time to do a whole lot, but I read it quickly and so much came to me I wanted to get something down now

in the concrete rockpools--I really like the word, but do you need concrete here?
of wave-worn beach defences ---was not expecting that word there, nice
I cradle fossilised fish scales
sea glass, the bones of dinosaurslovely S's in these surrounding lines
images from prehistory I think a more descriptive word than "images" would be possible here, but it's ok with me
stanzas trapped in pebbles I like the play here, with the word "stanzas" surrounded by so many rocks and pebbles and things in this actual stanza! having a rock image right before would make it even stronger
in my palm.

wow, there is a lot of rock and stone imagery here! I like those images so much

The rush of tides batter homes and barns
land crumbles like confidence, wind stings
splashes my face ruddy with expectation
of a future where time does not matter. I get these images, but i feel that I have heard them before. One idea is to play with line breaks here to kind of mimic the destruction and crumbling; right now, it looks pretty regular. that might give it something a little fresher

Church bells ring a sailor’s knell
six fathoms deep
next to the ship wrecks out there---do you need "there?"
where sea meets sky.here is another chance to play with form. With church bells ringing, adding a little meter to copy their song would be interesting, especially contrasting with the previous stanza. I also feel that this section alone could be a stanza if you wanted.
Once, a man
walking the coast road to Out Newton
morning-times
saw the head-ends of coffins
protruding from the muddy cliff, jutting beautiful enjambment with "jutting" doing just that, and literally standing the line "out over the..."
out over the seething water below
sand-martins perched on vacant handles
brass plates glinting like gold teeth


and the kittiwakes shrill like children
collecting bones from the clay
laying down the empirical truths
that will mould the texture of found souls.

I feel this poem is a lovely playground for playing with forms and breaking them down/ building them up again. Nice images, dramatic as well. I may have gone too far with some suggestions (and apologize for it), but I saw a lot here. thanks for the read.