There is a stillness in this frigid night
How peaceful is a planet that glimmers white
where frost and moonlight weave a silver glaze
and sillhouetted trees are black as ink
Where the only sign of life are whiffs of breath
Let me stand transfixed beneath the sky,
to rest my mind with reverent eyes
Upon the glorious silence of the world
Upon these strange and unfamiliar hills
then feel the night's aurora soothe my soul
Winter has buried our world in alabaster white
Familiar landmarks wear a cloak of new disguise
Yet still the same are scattered thorny lights
Splattered wildly in the blackness of a sky
Winter has polished up the stars against the dark
Brilliant, new, until their points are thistle sharp
How peaceful is a planet so glimmering white
To stand in voiceless wonder and gaze
Do not speak, the crystal world would shatter
Too fragile to bear the weight of words
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009
Look into my eyes
Follow me into a world of ecstasy
There and only there
Will you find the peace to unwind
Beautiful brown eyes not blue
Shady lids, stunning ocean view
Embracing every word
Hear the wind whispers your name
Come with me
Drown with me
Into the abyss of loving rain
Embrace this moment as I draw you in with words
Release you with the warmth -------I was there
I Share--I take
I LOVE--I HATE
Into my arms
I am the charm
Around your neck
Around your wrist
Listen to the voice from my beating heart
The freedom of touch
The freedom of speech.
Like the wind
I'll find my way
Into your heart
Arouse the cheerful energy
Of your insecurity and pen
Follow me into the sea
There we will fall into the deep
Build sand castles
Around dreams of reality
Slip into my aura light
Set to the rhythm of the oceanic night
Now, listen to the breeze
It's called out your name
It's only a matter of time----------------
You'll find yourself calling out...... mine
Dedicated to all my loving friends & fans :-)
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
Memories of the North Sea
sift in like sand kernels
on a fast, frigid tide:
events that transpired outside
the confines of rhyme,
as they were meant to.
Never before had I seen
so many shades of gray;
the overcast, monochromatic splendor
instead of being bleak and bleary.
The smell of salt and seaweed
awakes something dormant and eternal,
deep within me.
I have a surging desire
to flush stagnancy from my blood—
salty blood and water
come together in a communion
of distant relations and movements.
Beside me, a flash of bright red
digs in the sand; my child
is wearing the only vibrant colour
to be seen for many kilometres.
The colour matches her
enthusiasm and energy,
as she moves from one spot to the next
like a dancing flame;
reflected, a fire glows from my eyes.
Unknowingly, I had dressed
in the same colours of the sky and sea,
blending into the scenery
like a chameleon:
an illusion thicker than the clouds;
an illusion of stone
for me to melt and reinvent
at the spinning speed of thought.
I watch my daughter
drink the seascape with a smile of wonder;
it's her first time visiting an ocean.
With our pants rolled up to the knee,
we wade through waves,
and collect stones and shells.
She knows the chameleon
who walks alongside her in the frothy surf.
Observing seabirds cover the steep cliffs
of the island located further out,
in a blanket of black and white feathers,
I wonder if people onshore
only see a solitary dash of red out here,
or if the chameleon
is more noticeable than I had thought.
2012 North Sea Remix
December 17th, 2012
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012
Hand in hand
Sandy beach with beautiful sunset
What could be more romantic than
when the sun is glowing red and orange
melts into the sea somewhere
And two who are in love and goes hand in hand
A small box
On his knees in the wet sand beach
Will you be mine
She blushes as the sunset
Smiles her lovely smile
Yes, I would
The sun melts into the sea somewhere
But for a couple in love, the night is still young
A-L Andresen :)
("mix poem" )
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2013
Cocooned in orange plush, obscenely safe,
in false cinematic twilight,
light leaping out of nowhere,
dizzying the frozen yet titillated onlooker.
The popcorn-crunching crowd have eaten myth.
your seaweed ropes -
drowned umbilicals -
attach you to the seabed's vast placenta.
Your rusticles drape you like a sleeping shroud.
The knife-edge of your bow; the knife plunged into mud.
A spherical light fixture sprouts a sea pen,
snaky-fingered: a poignant Medusa.
A high-button shoe rests close by.
White ocean crockery, ghost porcelain -
appurtenances of a sunken pelagian people.
Your silt bed, more than two miles below,
private even now,
refuses to yield its virgin treasure still.
A valedictory message, torn from a pocket calendar,
forced into a cold clasping hand -
a desperate flutter of paper.
Strobe, a marine rapist, raking the ocean floor;
invasion of the depths below.
Your one-way virgin voyage, inescapable.
The night was a still pool of indigo.
The berg glided silently by,
lethal as a shark's fin, with terrible finality.
The pinprick stars - flowers of light -
averted their eyes respectfully.
Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot | Year Posted 2013
Constantly she toils
in the darkness of the heaving sea
gathering treasures into her aprons deep;
twice a day she knocks, panting,
at the shoreline’s wide stretching door,
and scatters her abundant gifts
for vagabonds like me to reap.
Copyright, October 24, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014
Early in the mourning she rose
She wood fined her boat
Wear she rose across the see two the sure
Their she mustard all her mite
And toad the boat on the beech
Butt if the thyme was write she tide it two a boy
She could hardly weight
Four she nose she will sea her suite sun
They wood sit on a bolder, brake sum bred
Then they eight a hole pair
Her sun called her a deer
He tolled her when he urns enough doe
Ore got sum tacks witch was dew
He wood by her a flour at the bizarre
Witch could be tide in her hare
The cent of the rows wood bee sew sheikh
One knight he said she wood prophet
If she past buy a different root
He new the currant could get ruff
The whether was no longer fare and getting two chilli
She road away into the missed
Aisle meat ewe next weak he balled until he was horse
He trussed he wood see her next weak
Only Homo’s ‘Aloud’ – Jerry T Curtis
23rd March 2015
~awarded 1st place
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
Tossed upon blank beaches
like men without souls,
shell fragments littering the sand.
Each broken shell once could sing
lyrics lilting of glories past,
tales spun in Dresden colors,
soft, shimmering memories -
blissful days beneath shining seas.
In broken men who walk the earth,
vignettes I view . . .
shattered beauty every one.
August 3, 2014
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014
the indelible scent of ecstasy filled their auras
with the fragrance of lovemaking spent and
aroused passion anxious to be tasted then
devoured…skin forged on skin…a magical collaboration
of need satisfying need…moments when love
takes you far beyond reality…no limits…
no borders…nothing refused… your physical surrender
a mere formality as flesh seeks flesh…
frolicking taste-buds unlocking rivers of dreams whose
surge simply washes away the pain of loveless
droughts past …in a heartbeat forever forgotten
all resistance simply ripped away as
flame licks ice as if it were candy… mouths drawn to loins
scented by eucalyptus that once inhaled becomes
unforgettable and forevermore addictive as
the taste of warm summer honey cloaks the soul
the strength of passion is found in its gentleness
the luxury of being touched so deeply…so intimately
your soul is turned inside out…eager to respond
the relentless tongue victoriously plays hide and seek
as a master…once found you beg for the mercy of more
you are never the same again…ever…as if a thirsty
sea lay within your soul and its tide is forever restless
paradise found …over and over…emptiness abandoned
as if a decree by the gods of love…two scents becoming
one..the air you breathe forever shared…the promise of
forever scratched on your skin as if you were a trophy
Irish ST PADDY'S DAY 2010
Copyright © Michael Poyntz | Year Posted 2010
The crunch of snow under trudging feet
A breath of white, a darkened sky
Eyes near closed from sting of cold
She dreams of summer days
With each small step, that leaves it's mark
Upon the white
In dreamy state, where daydreams play
From cold, away from chill, from ice upon the hills..
Her thoughts, they bide, for summer days,
and dreams that take the cold away
She finds herself so far away, a place
Where weeping willows brush her face
Bending 'neath the branches low
While walking on a garden's path
Grass gently sways, green as glass
So timid blows the warming breeze,
It fetches shining hair with ease
The wisps of gold which fly astray,
Like meadow flowers, in yellow maize
A melody of larks that sing
An amber sun, a basking glow, that ambles by
To warm a face so pale from winter's sunless sky
Until once more the breath of chill upon a cheek
And snowflake on her lash
Startles cold, like morning ash, returning eyes to winter's cry
A cold north wind that catches scarf
A thief that snatches warmth away, and thus her dream
And now awake, she sighs, ...to find it still,... the winter day
Yet distantly, there lies in wait, a springtime place, a promised fate
A path beneath the willow tree, where sun peeks through the velvet haze
Where flowers bloom and meadows grow, and larks sing lovely lullabies
The earth will wake, new walks to take.. and be, not a dream...
But a day to praise
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Submitted for Constance's "A Walk to Remember" contest....
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009
Is that a word,
Or the foundation of all mountains of speeches?
Is love a whisper or an ejaculation?
A prayer, or a plea?
Why is it that love crescendos off the tongue
Like caramel in symphony?
Why does it melt me,
As if by heaven God made me an iceberg,
To later fall in the heat of destiny like my enemies?
Is it woman,
Is it the softness of your hand,
Or the coarse scratch against a rocky sand?
You say you love me so simply, genuinely
What is it my mind cannot comprehend,
As my eyes zoom in to your wanting lips,
The almost anticipated sound saintly slips
A fraction to my experience,
And a lifetime left of its dark and intimate peaks. . .
In these mountains of words,
How does one sleep?
How shall we rest willingly in the dangerous unknown,
With you and I alone?
I love you too..
How can I not when all of its footprints lead back to you?
Love is as simple as the word yearning on your mouth
As deep as the dark, undiscovered creatures of the sea
Though, most of all,
As far as I dare feel and see,
As simple as it sounds,
And God must well agree,
Love is you and me
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015
How did a decent lady like me end up here, anyway?
The only girl aboard a ship of unsavory men.
The last thing I remember was sipping a glass of wine in a tavern.
Then, when I awoke, I was at sea,
on a vessel, and surrounded by pirates.
Shanghai'd, I think they call it.
For what purpose, I do not even want to think about.
However, I found that out rather quickly.
Then, I learned something else.
A sharp cutlass and a loaded pistol are a girl's best friend.
I am hardly the damsel in distress, for I can take care of myself.
There is one thing on board this ship
that I do not mind thinking about.
The captain, or so he calls himself.
My gaze often finds him, though his never finds me.
Only when he is giving me orders.
I have been entrusted with the helm of this vessel.
While he stares off into the waters of the Caribbean Sea.
Perhaps, planning our next heading.
The seas are strangely calm at the end of this day.
The sun is half way sunken below the horizon,
making the usual aqua-blue waters glow a golden-orange.
I stare into the dark eyes of my pirate captain,
they reflect the sunset, and shine like the gold of a doubloon.
His eyes are a lost treasure that I hope will find me.
I would trade all of the hidden treasures in the seven seas,
just for one look of those eyes.
Rubies, rare pearls, sapphires,
even gold cannot entice me more.
I leave the ship's wheel to make my way
down the wooden steps to the empty deck.
And, I ask him if he has our next route mapped out.
The captain leans against the ship's rails,
looking down as if contemplating.
He slowly turns his head,
and looks up at me with those enchanting eyes.
Then, he gives me that mischievous half-smile....
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014
A silver path shimmers
Across the sea and leads
To you lovely Luna lady,
Clustered by Cumulus clouds
And embraced by an indigo sky,
From your glowing eye.
Lovers wrapped in moonbeams
Reflected by the sandy shore
Share kisses in silhouette shadows
In the magic of your rising,
In the soft music of the waves,
In the beating of passionate hearts.
© 2014 Connie Marcum Wong
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2014
Thoughts of Two Dimensions
Yesterday, I loved your courtyards
bathed in moonlight's shadows and smiles,
smitten by wavering stars,
lanterns of my youth,
that are reflected as coins,
in the quiet waters of your fountains.
Those are my reminiscences
arabesque creatures of an old chest,
sanctified by the lavender,
and left on the bottom of my wardrobe.
Today, I love your crowded streets,
pebbled alleyways that breathe
with aromas of kitchens,
shouts of children quarreling,
and nagging of older women
behind those awnings and windows of life well known.
Tomorrow, I will love your hot paved squares
that open to the harbors and promising high seas
while cypresses will send regards to far away winds,
and seagulls will sing nostalgia cries
of wandering merchants and sailors.
Copyright © Vesna Arsenich | Year Posted 2008
Silent in its violence, the sun
lays its ancient fire hand on the heat-scoured
concrete of the promenade,
the boxy seafront chalets tilting and creaking at angles,
the scorched, salt-stiffened gardens,
sand dunes, the screaming blue sea.
It is so difficult to accept a loss, a deprivation.
Innocence flaps its winding sheet behind me,
its mummy cloth of myth.
As from an isolated moon I see
the first cold breaker rush to engulf me:
an underwater undulance,
undercurrents of menace, of malice.
The sand-strewn strand stretches into infinity,
shimmering with the visions, the voices, the echoes,
the faceless departments of government and society.
I watch the insouciant people around me,
they possess a flatness, like blank paper.
They hump and lug plastic picnic paraphernalia,
ridiculously, all beach grime and blistered backs,
reduced to a red cindery glow.
Ice creams, scooped from the freezers
in trinkety seashore shops,
are clutched in sunburned hands.
They are spreading striped sunbathing mats,
snide and smiling slyly.
Is it a mirage, a delusion,
plucked from the desert-dry air?
The air snags in my throat: the flat summer stench
of warm wood, sun lotion, billowing cotton -
blank but expansive; the creaking, the flapping.
A strange wind howls and banters in my ear.
And the train shrieks through its station -
the station of my brain -
a riddled red abyss, poker-hot.
The sun is sinking:
a disc of fire, a blood clot.
Water floods the ridgy shallows,
eddying into treacherous pits.
The black gun muzzle of my mouth
flays the oxygen from the air.
My nerves a hive of wires suffering
the scarlet atrocities.
Pokers put out my eyes.
Squeezed by the forceps of agony
I see nothing, nothing
but a mirage of wavering dunes closing in
and the sea splintering; a multitude of glass glittering.
Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot | Year Posted 2012
All I see is water
As far as my eyes will allow me
What brought me here
It was the memories of you
The warmth of the sand
In between my toes
A gentle reminder of what it felt like
Having you next to me
Holding my hand as we took
Our walks along the shore
We didn't have to say a word
Just allow the gentle sea breeze
To mask our footprints as we went
Could have been a similar day,
Could have been a similar time
But today -
It’s just me and the gentle sea breeze
To remind me of you
Not saying a word
And yet I can feel you
With every step I take
Copyright © Wilma Neels | Year Posted 2013
Cornering me in the bedroom corner, you say it doesn't matter
if the lunar clock is striking twenty eight;
we can set ourselves adrift, unpick the anchorage,
the tide turning for our pleasure.
The slide inside smoother, slicker, tonight;
oddly intimate, skin-to-skin, coral depths pulling you in.
The red wave gathers, breaks, slowly spills and seeps,
creeps down my leg - neither of us cares.
We're lost in lunar loving beneath a bloodstained moon.
Our bodies cling and cleave, braced against the heave
of the current, wave upon wave of carnal carmine.
Plunging deeper into the red sea,
your urging surging through me,
pulsing forward with the flood of my blood,
wet, now, with the cochineal essence of me.
Scarlet secrets of the sea cave within;
each warm gush brings a fresh flush of lust,
as the red anemone of my womb
tenses to release rivulets of rubies
and my muscles contract redly around you,
swelling to hold you with a hotter grip.
We're maroon-mottled, musky with lust,
as the crimson current churns and swirls around us.
And we're surrendering to it, going with the flow,
our skin streaked with scarlet tidemarks,
slippery with passion's puce pattern,
as the sea sweeps a new sensuality ashore.
You're dizzy-drunk on my body's heady claret,
sweat-silvered and ruby-jewelled, as you slowly withdraw,
leaving a smattering of glistening garnets on the bedroom floor.
Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot | Year Posted 2011
NOTE: I have placed this Poem as a Video Poem also on
[ This Poem is dedicated to Freedom of Expression
and Tibetan Dharma Guru Shri Dalai Lama to support
his struggle for the cause of Freedom of Expression ]
IMP. NOTE: Now the Poem cum Song "Take Me Away but..."can be heard on my Radio Air Play Radio Station of Radio Jango.com in 'Ravindra K kapoor Radio'
Take me away but I promise to sing a Song
Take me away from such a place,
Where feelings and emotions,
cannot be freely expressed.
Where new thoughts and ideas are crushed,
By the rod of power and corrupts.
Where mind do not get the opportunity to reveal,
its vast sea of beauty and varying colors.
Where love never flies freely in the sky,
while touching the unexplored lofty heights, and
wings of Poetry are nipped in the buds,
before they bloom and spread their smiles.
Where wind do not flow,
while touching the flowers and buds,
Where the butterflies do not have the freedom,
to show their varying moods and colors.
Where faiths have lost their grandeurs and glow, and
shrines are converted into suffocating barracks.
Where love has lost its magic of moving a heart,
to sing a song and dance on the call of its soul,
Where a vast sea of humans live,
without the freedom of expression.
Take me away from such a land and place,
Where people live in chains under iron curtains.
I promise I will come back to this land one day,
when the breeze will flow freely touching every heart,
When its people will have the freedom to fly on their wings,
I promise I will come back, to such a place one day,
When animals too would move without fear in their hearts, and
birds would be free to fly anywhere in the sky.
When the morning dew would greet the new rising Sun,
By glittering without fear, its silver and golden beams,
When flowers and buds would freely spread,
their alluring wings and fragrance in the air.
When the human mind would be free to explore and express,
its ideas and colors on the canvas of paper.
I promise I will come to such a land one day,
to Sing the song of joy and mirth.
Kanpur India 27th Aug. 2011
Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor | Year Posted 2011
I swam inside the Mediterranean Sea.
In what would be my Glory Days, off Valencia’s coast,
I dipped my foot in freezing water;
withdrew it; then dipped it in again.
(I’d always had my own will even then,
just didn’t realize how strong it was).
Disappointingly, my one day to enjoy the sea was cold.
I still cannot recall if others from my group
ventured out there with me and stayed for long
although I remember a few of them were shivering
riding on the bus to go back home.
Oh, it was so very long ago!
Nor can I recollect the suit I wore
(I do know I was plump then;
"Gordita” the men called out to me).
The season - was it early spring or still the winter?
And what specific color claimed the sea that day
along my beloved Iberia’s splendid shore?
Of that afternoon, I remember only this:
Aimlessly I let my body float first in one direction,
then another; keeping my eyes always on land,
my body numb, accustomed to the freeze.
No one was around me; I drifted, sometimes nearly straying. . .
just I - all alone -
letting my whole self go. . . for maybe 40 minutes.
It was something I felt that I just had to do
so that years later, standing here today
(“Gordita” frozen deep inside me)
I can say that I swam in that mighty, ancient sea.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011
My fingers grasp at the void, empty-handed...
My heart lingers at hollowness, emptied out...
reminiscent when time got wrinkled, worn
when night and day left,
and only nothing remained.
The embers of my burning words
wither into the palest of ashes,
it makes me think of dead skin cells—
they are nothing but dust
sloughed off, then piled up into dusty corners, forgotten.
Minuteness discarded, a lover’s crumbling skeleton.
A noise barrage invades my soul’s silence,
an onslaught of thought and reason—
A wailing, pounding, desert squall that drowns me,
shattering the dam of tranquility.
I plunge back into this abyss of loneliness.
Of course nobody’s there.
They have all been long gone.
And here I am, with only this vast void as my company.
It whispers, it screams
and echoes into my mind,
what they’ve all been saying all along,
that I brought this upon myself.
Maybe I did. Of course I did.
Of course I did. Maybe I did.
Back and forth, back forth it goes...
I seek sanctuary in dreams,
for it is only there that my sea of loneliness
becomes a sea of ecstatic happiness...
I seek sanctuary in dreams,
for it is only there that I am welcome.
Touch me Not! Noli me tangere.
Wake me not...
Silence has blocked your ears.
The shattering of my heart was unperceived,
so I am left alone to take extreme care of these countless shards.
I can’t afford to hurt anymore, as I have done to the others.
With my words. With my long-winding, droning and ever-boring words.
The death-inducing kind of boring.
And only nothing cared to remain.
I am left with no choice but to be one with this nothingness,
flow along its waves, imbibe it and become it. Nix.
Let me evaporate, let me join that cycle of seeming nothingness.
That nothing, that stark quiet before the storm.
Breathe deep into that void.
Hear nothing. See nothing. Say nothing.
Can you feel me now?
As nothing touches you.
*** This was inspired from Catie’s “Nothing Remains”. In choosing this, in no
way am I saying that her poem needs improvement. It is brilliant as it is. I chose this poem of hers because it moved me and spoke to me. Thank you, Catie.
Copyright © binibining P.iNk | Year Posted 2012
Rose-veined, you opened the heart vein in me
as I crested each white wave of grief.
Nipple-rosy, you suckled sadness like mother milk;
miraculous, whorled in warm salt waters -
small sea-curled shell, rocked by my body's waves.
When sea-voiced songs swirled into the pearled
shell of your ear did you hear
my breeze blown words, wave-whispered?
Small, balled conch of cute, ocean floating
but clam-clamped to the placental shore,
tethered by a soft seaweed sway.
Little love limpet, lodged forever
beneath my heart's carapace -
a memory mollusc
clinging to my dry driftwood days.
Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot | Year Posted 2014
My prints are visible for now as I press the soaked sand
Breathing in the cured sea air
I hear the silent roar of its mighty movement
Disobedient curves imbuing in an aquamarine blue
Rhythmic grains of tamed shells
So violently arranged in a thing of beauty along the beaten shore
One should feel powerless against its perimeter
As the constant ascension changes the beach slowly over time
So to do I feel an ever so mellow shift of mind
The sea is an ever so predictable place
With an unpredictable aim
Every bit true for life
Copyright © Laura Mckenzie | Year Posted 2010
Zwischen dem Morgen und der Nacht
fallen die Sterne in den Pazifischen Ozean.
Die ewige Sonne lässt die Wellen erklingen,
mit dem weichen Schaum leichten Schnees.
Die See singt Lieder des Vergessens,
von versunkenen Bäumen,
von leuchtenden Stränden,
von der Liebe.
Ich bin wie der Wind,
der den frischen und vollen Morgen berührt.
Der Ozean kennt viele Lieder.
Ich will keine verwundeten Wolken im Morgen zurücklassen,
um die Erinnerung nicht zu trüben.
Der Pazifische Ozean hat die Farbe von Azulejos,
den blauen Kacheln eines alten portugiesischen Hauses.
Die Wellen tragen meine Träume,
unvergessen, der Vergangenheit.
Die Möwen bringen mir die Zukunft,
mit frischer, ruhiger Stimme.
In stillen Nächten ertönt die Musik des Meeres,
dann stehen die Sterne auf, um erneut zu scheinen.
Between morning and night
the stars fall into the Pacific Ocean.
The everlasting sun lets the waves sound,
with the soft foam of light snow.
The sea sings songs of oblivion,
of submerged trees,
of luminous beaches,
of the love.
I am like the wind,
which touches the fresh and full morning.
The ocean knows many songs.
I do not want to leave behind wounded clouds in the morning,
not to cloud the memories.
The Pacific Ocean has the color of Azulejos,
the blue tiles of an old Portuguese house.
The waves carry my dreams,
unforgotten, of the past.
Sea gulls will bring me the future,
with a fresh, and quiet voice.
In silent nights the music of the sea resounds,
then stars arise to shine anew.
Entre la mañana y la noche
las estrellas caen hacia el Océano Pacífico.
El sol eterna hace sonor las ondas,
con la suave espuma de ligera nieve.
El mar canta canciones de olvida,
de árboles sumergidos,
de playas luminosas,
del amor .
Yo soy como el viento,
que toca la fresca y llena mañana.
El océano tiene muchas canciones.
Yo no quiero dejar nubes heridos en la mañana
para no empañar la memoria.
El Océano Pacífico es el color de los azulejos,
esos azulejos de una antigua casa portuguesa.
Las olas llevan mis sueños,
inolvidadas, del pasado.
Las gaviotas me traen el futuro,
con voz fresca y calma.
En noches tranquilas suena la música del mar,
y luego las estrellas se levantan para brillar de nuevo.
Copyright © Gert W. Knop | Year Posted 2010
I've listened to it's calling, in awes amazement
Felt the rush of the waves between my bare feet,
Allowing the bubbles of sea form to explode,
As I spread my toes digging them deeply,
Within the beaches warm sand.
Then at this moment of perfect splendor,
I pondered in thoughts deep contemplation,
At natures raw marvelous wonderment.
Oh how I envy the seagulls above,
Whom soar above this blue blue aquatic world,
How free they seem to dive admits the powder clouds
Of the divine, crying in joys liberation.
These master fisher birds, gleaning morsels of
Food at the surf of the waters top layered edges.
White winged creatures hanging effortlessly
Upon breezes of air, rippling over the currents
Behold the epic beauty of the timeless sea, it brings
The sacred heavens themselves to weep, the angelic
Angels tears fall from Nervous itself, melting the sky's
Blue to blend with the waves, giving the bluish tint to
The aquatic world of elegance beneath.
Against the sheltering coves coral reef,
Within the wake of the rolling riptides crashing,
Scattered are the delicate aquatic trumpets of Poseidon.
A tender weepings sounding, is heard within
The hardened shelled cocoon of the sea shells,
As they wash upon the sandy shore.
Hush now mortal and listen to the sweet song of
The sea, softly it so plays in meiotic rhythm,
Enchanting the vision insight of clarity, to beguilement
Can you not the hear the swaying of the tropical trees,
Lightly being caressed by the breezes of the sea,
On the distant shores of enlightenment.
At twilight's golden hour of sunset, the lord spreads
Wide his miraculous canvas, to display his master
Work of divinity.
A brilliance shimmering in light of the divine,
Held encapsulated within the sea shells song.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015
The Daffodil, peeks at the yellow rays of the Morning Sun
She raises her head :through the withering snow mound : with Dazzling Beauty
The Daffodil , Sings in harmony; Arise for I am : the Spring
The Golden weed, the Dandelion , reflects the yellow Halo Floating in the Sky
Knowing Life is short ,the Dandelion dots the Summer landscape
With Her Halo turning White, She calls the Wind and flies through the rays of the Sun
Goldenrod waits until summer is nigh o’er before waving elegantly
To the Yellow orb, warming her roots, She melodiously Sings Forever be Your Glory
The Goldenrod , humbly Hums Hymns : to the very Eye of a Loving GOD
Yellow Roses speak of the Memories : “watching the grass “Sportsman’s WAVE””
She sees the Glory of Nature : more Beautiful with each Magnificent : Sunrise
Yellow Roses, petals so Silky Soft, holding in “ Remembrance “ a long Lost “ LOVE “
The “ AquaRose “ that Grows, in the deep Caribbean Sea “4 miles North of Aruba”
Screams For the Sun, from her watery Grave, Yet she shines in a sea of “ Sapphire
" Blue "
The Depth of the “Blue sea, the Blue Sky above” Shadow the glow of Sweet
" Sunshine "
Inspired by the Contest : " Flowers " : Sponsored by Francine Roberts
Dedicated To my LOVES : " Barbara Jean " & " Lenore Ellen "
Author's Note : I Hope this is Read the way it was Written
YOUR Liege ALWAYS, LOVE : HGarvey Daniel Esquire
7th Place win
Copyright © HGarvey Daniel Esquire | Year Posted 2011
She will rise from the water, in the midday afternoon
Lightly vaulting from darkness and a bright diamond throne
Splashing forth as a fountain, spilling colors of gold
Wearing combs made of seashells, from deep in the cold
She has no tongue, she has no tears
She had no clothes, will mystically appear
No need for air, her hair is fair
Her eyes are clear of unfound love
She is a siren, she is an angel, she is a myth, for many seasons
Is she real, or apparition…, do we see her for a reason?
A stretched out long tail, on bed of kelp-strewn sand
Soaking up the sun rays, to dry golden strands
She bewitches with amusement
While the darting fish play games
She is not just illusion, has no given name
She's a vision from the past, speaks the language of forgetting
Her repertoire of movement, and exquisite, agile form
A creature bathed in mystery, wears pearls of wet adorn
Ever mindful of the music, human splashing rage of oars
And the chorused voice, and shouting force gale winds that blow from shore
She shuts her dimming eyes, where sun will never be...
And dives back to the purple twilight,
And the freedom of the sea
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011
There was once a maiden who lived by the sea
with lustrous lips that dried too soon
like early dew perched on a tree .
She once was beautiful with skin so fair
A veil of lilacs covered her hair.
Her eyes the brightest of moonglow beams
Her voice, a drifting wave on a late night breeze.
Her dimpled smile lit each dark alley
Her carefree spirit reached every valley.
This little maiden had never married
though noble blood her womb has carried.
Undressed from innocence, her tender flesh
has felt the warmth of drunken breath.
His fingertips exposed her neck
and then trailed down along her back.
She couldn't move, She couldn't scream
At last, She ran not to be seen.
She ran so fast to be set free
She raised her son, lone by the sea.
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2015
Lapping against the shoreline’s edge,
Fluid quartz-crystal of waves rush
through my toes . As I align home-made
paper boats wiggling against ebb tide,
the looped hammock of moon gently cradles
strains from Jobim’s notes, ‘ Agua de Beber, ’
where summer memoirs drip inside my veins:
On this familiar trail, he would nestle
A cocktail of stars unto my hands… riding
upon the torrid pulse of a bamboo’s gyre,
quietly leading me into the fragrant sea
that we, dream-walkers , mesh atop an islet’s breast.
Yet now, only silence mates a heart gazing at
paper boats, humped sandstone far off a ridge
that in August’s glittering last queue,
hints of ‘Agua de Beber’ speak to me
about a current, paddling on a waterfront,
Gentle and wild as the tidal net of retrospect.
The Sea Shore Contest sponsored by Craig Cornish
2/ 5/ 2016
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016
what a catch
Copyright © James Peranteau | Year Posted 2011
I bent over to touch my toes
and the ground tore open like a backbone.
I tried to feed myself the sky;
to splice my tearducts into the universe
so that, when the pavement cried, it would mean something to me.
My fingernails punctured that slimy membrane
congealed with stars,
and I brought a slice of it to my lips,
hot and slippery like a jellyfish.
Peach juice, chalky-sweet, flowed,
fleshy particles snagged in my teeth,
and the colors erupted within my mouth.
Synthesia took over my lungs.
The hollows between my knuckles flooded with synovia
and all the ectoplasm threatened to separate from my cells
with a sound like thunder.
Diphthong tasted rusty like leukoplakia as it tiptoed across my tongue.
Tomorrow rose like the skeletons of trees,
groping for a feeling similar to catharsis
[catharsis tender as the broken wings of doves,
crunching underfoot like shattered glass.]
The clouds opened their thunderous maws
- teeth snicker-snacking, lamplight-eyes flaming the color of E#'s -
and consumed me.
I felt my skin turn to something other than skin:
thick and rough with scales,
my fingerprints melting into something waxen, smooth and opaque,
like pomegranate kisses on coffee mugs.
A feeling ignited deep in my structure;
cedillas blossoming like lilies from my lips,
fragmented sentences stretching taut as guitar strings
between my thumb and forefingers.
A flutter gentle and demonic as Calcifer erupted from my system
- splattering hot and frothing into my hand -
and fluid rushed in.
I dared to taste oblivion,
and the sky swallowed me.
My lungs failed to be lungs.
They flooded with caustic matter,
and I coughed up reflections sharp as fiberglass;
fighting with organs phthisical and sore.
I struggled to find a way to describe it:
the feeling of consuming something greater than yourself,
of opening your eyes and tasting the sound of rain.
It was like swimming,
but inside out.
I bent over to touch my toes,
and my spine tore open;
the loose laces unraveling, veterbrae poking out
like the tines of forks.
I tried to contort myself into the beginning,
but I only found where I end.
Copyright © Elizabeth Nathaniel | Year Posted 2012