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Art Beach Poems | Beach Poems About Art

These Art Beach poems are examples of Beach poems about Art. These are the best examples of Art Beach poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Rhyme |

Goodbye, My Child

Where cradled canyons sing
Of ebony wood in the forest
There lies a gurgling spring
Where cockcrows sing their chorus
To the melody of singsong birds
There I’ve concealed my sensuous words
Filled with befitted signs
The saccharine whiff of my designs

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Where the fogs of night are fountains
Spills of glistened moon ignite
By distant silhouette mountains
We dance with passion of fight
Entwining ancient stance 
Mingling hand in hand we dance
Till the mountains smile on high
Near and far we spring
To pursue the realest of dreams
While the world cries at its seams
Anxious in trouble to cling

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

To where the ridges merry make 
From the beaks of wooden bright
In sparkly pools the ghouls awake
That scarce to stir our night
We watch for seekers down under
Muttering secrets in their soul
We bid them lucks of shivers
Dipping gently in
From reeds that hide a tear of a foal
Under the gentle rivers

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Far away she shall ever churn
The taciturn eyed
She’ll listen no more to turn
To the working mills beside
Or the scrubbing of the barn
May peace weave in her song
She shall wave in the yarn
To a haven known as Belong  

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

For she comes, the mortal youth
To the wild realm of her truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only her tears be found


Details | Couplet |

LindaMarie The Sweetheartof P S

  ~ Linda-Marie The Sweetheart of P. S. ~

When it comes to a friendly hi!
One of the best poetry, hearts we can't deny!

Our Sweetheart Linda Marie
No one is smoother and sweeter than her- our peach tree

Always stopping by to say hi, no matter, rain/sleet or snow
Her contest Zany Zoo, one of the soups best show

A woman who never judged me from the start
Linda Marie, thank you for being such a sweetheart

Sharing her delightful poems,  a double doze for me
Oh Me- Oh My- That woman can write so much poetry!

I am sure she is loved by the poetry soup staff
LOL! How this blonde bombshell  made us laugh

Remember, when she took her laptop to a sandy Island 
She smiled, and shared, how the laptop was damaged with so much sand

Hanging out with Linda, it's like singing "Kumbaya my Lord"-- I felt her holding my hand
How sweet of Linda, when she invited us to meet her new Husband?

Linda Marie is loved by her very own BBF team
Letting us know, life has been more than a dream

Her heart so big, she worried when her BFF's weren't around
Leaving notes, making sure we have not hit a poet break down

She keeps us in her heart when we are not logged in
Her beautiful and clever/witty poem will forever remain 

Most of her poetry made me smile
Linda Marie's poetry had so much Style!

We prayed for you when we heard about your son
Thank you for sharing your faith in God. -Linda You're #1

A poet I highly recommend
Linda Marie my poetry soup best friend

Dedicated to:
~Linda-Marie The Sweetheart of P. S. ~ 2012
~I"M gonna miss you, 2013
Happy birthday to you :-(  Don't leave, 2013

NEW NOTE:  
(STILL MISSING YOU) Love always, YOUR BFF -- 2014
Sending my Heart, To one of the soups Leading Ladies
RIP. Linda-Marie Bariana You are forever loved


Details | Lyric |

While You Sleep

While you sleep I tell you all of the things I keep inside throughout day.
Now that you can hear but not listen I find them much easier to say.
My hopes, my dreams, my fears, and everything in between
Your subconscious hears so keen, or so it seems.
My tongue is soft; I speak so sweetly 
Knowing your reaction will never greet me.

Tonight will be different in what I want you to know.
It has everything to do with what I can’t help but show.
I hold no claim to any religion but you’ve given me a place for my faith.
Somewhere it will never stale or lose its lavish taste.
You’ve shown me something I can see, touch, and feel, 
And so before it I choose to kneel.

I know I don’t say it but I miss you every day.
Sitting, thinking of the perfect words to be my choice,
Yet when you call I can’t find any of the right words to say.
I’m just happy to finally hear your voice.
Even just a moment is enough to sooth my heavy heart;
Fearing the ends of conversations knowing we’ll have to part.

I’ll never be too far from you, always within arm’s reach,
And in your days of darkness I’ll be the light that you will seek.
I’ll never let you leave too far from me, I’ll stay close behind you in this world;
Secretly protecting what is mine, you will always be my girl.
I only want the best for you so the best of me I will employ.
Faithfully yours, I will always be your boy.

I close my eyes and kiss your soft sweet lips
And see the very best of you in loving bliss.
I see past the physical which makes you attractive
And focus on the things I can’t see in which I’m attracted.
Your thoughts I’d love to hear them all.
Of the things you speak disinterest never makes its call.

My day will come, I know someday I’ll be the only one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I’ve given you the greatest gift I can give, to love unconditionally.
Yes our day will come, I know someday we’ll be as one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I’ve given you the greatest gift I can give… to love unconditionally.


Details | Ballad |

A House On the Cliff's Edge

There is a house on the cliff’s edge,
Around a quiet, unmarked shoreline
At night, the tide lifts high against a foggy moon
In the morning, gloomy clouds settle with the sea
At times, not even the birds are seen or heard
The house is left to nature’s caress

Home-crafted seashell chimes sway and sing with the wind
Crushed sand dollars lie together on the back porch
The shells were once whole, collected by the former owners
Long gone are they now, smiling with the moon
The owners are the very sound of the ocean spray,
Striking the rocks, announcing the cool dawn of day
They are not the dark, empty rooms,
The rooms that nobody thinks of as they go about their lives
The quiet owners are long gone—thought of only by one
A stillborn legacy about as tiresome as the sun,
When the clouds crisp out its beams . . .

A seawater puddle is in the middle of the dining room
Nobody knows it sits there, sinking in the floorboards
It used to be a far larger puddle after a storm,
Stealthily leaking into the house
But now it is small—so small—and the boards are moist,
Moist with its only companion amongst the instilled silence

Nobody thinks of empty, abandoned rooms
Nobody remembers the former owners
They were not much for socials and gatherings
They always lived their quiet, happy lives
Without a care of the outside world,
Far from anybody’s thought
Miles from the nearest home
Where the next generation comfortably lives 

He never finished fixing that leak . . .

Sometimes the puddle gets bigger after other storms
And when it does, there is almost life there again
You can see the chandelier reflected on the unperturbed water
As a crystal dangles and falls from on high
The dark silence following the drop is as deep as thought . . .

Nobody thinks of empty, abandoned rooms
Nobody remembers the former owners
There is merely a house on the cliff’s edge
Around a quiet, unmarked shoreline

-March 21, 2013-


Details | Rhyme |

This is me

My knees were the things that 
kept me up and my skin is my 
cutting board my eyes are the 
rain clouds to the fire running 
down my arms and my heart is 
the fire place that keeps me 
burning so calm


Details | Narrative |

The People Around Me

Things seems to be very clear,
When actually felt it is unclear,
What really seems to be clear,
May never ever be clear for ever.

Your help for others,
May be to be appreciated,
Or taken as what is called,
to be uncounted.

My question is clear,
Why the help for others,
Is sometime never appreciated,
However it is always delivered. 

In response to ethics,
lingers in my mind the answer,
To help others is not to be recognised, 
But it is to be called someone, 
Who can be respected.

To all, continue to help,
Not to to be appreciated by others,
But to be respected by yourself.


Details | Elegy |

An Elegy For Noah Tuckwell

As tears flow from my reddened eyes
I can see what I have purely missed
As I look up to the dark grey skies
I will always remember our first fist

I sit here and think of your face
The first time I saw your light fluffy cheeks
I always wanted to lay my head on that place
Even when I was buried in my girlfriend’s twin peaks.

You never knew my love for you
I waited until it was too late
I often yearned for a way through
Both your heart and your front gate.

But now you’ve passed away
Slipped through my limp and lifeless fingers
But I still yearn for that fortuitous day
And the smell of your tobacco colour coat still lingers.

As I stare at my homage dedicated to you
I can feel a heart shaped hole called ‘Noah’
My body is conflicted, I don’t know what to do
It’s such a shame that you were found in pieces underneath a lawnmower.

So many holes, and opportunities now
I feel my body grow harder
For you Noah would only allow 
One hole to be ventured in farther 

As you led there erotically 
on the grass that day
with your legs so lovely 
I couldn’t take my eyes away

So I didn’t see 
The lawnmower draw near
The blades running free
And beginning to career

Ever closer to your toes
To impoverish your heart
I’m the only one who knows
How a love like this does start 

To think I won’t see you again
Striding majestically down the Bath Road
And, protecting your shoulders from the rain
Your little tobacco coloured coat

I wish I had been able to say 
All this to you when you were alive
I came so close once, that fateful day
When we were standing outside the Beehive

Your hair was golden in the glow 
Of the solitary standing streetlamp
Yet still, you couldn’t ever know 
My feeling for you or my heart would cramp

And now you’re dead you selfish thing
You’ll never hear me speak these thoughts
You’ll never feel me ‘flap my wings’
Or ogle me as I cavort

But now you’re in the ground
In the darkness and despair
But I have now created a mound
Where I can collect your hair

My heart is soaked in liquid salt 
My clothes cling to my body
Although I know that it’s no-one fault
Staring at you was my favourite hobby

Now it’s time to say goodbye
My lovely little pet
My heart still yearns, my eyes still cry 
Although we never met


Details | I do not know? |

The Beach of Promises

The Beach of Promises


1.


Fingers entwined, barely touching,
turquoise waters teasing your dancing toes,

strolling along that serene deserted beach,
our promised dreams within aching reach.


2.


Hands clasped, holding on,
sea-breezes tickling the nape of your neck,

walking together, alone, vowing to never breach,
the dreams dreamed on that faraway velvet beach.


3.


Hands in my pockets, alone,
traces of you linger, teasing,

lost in my scribbles, your memory fading out of reach,

my thoughts ablaze, now and then,
catching a whiff of your fragrance,

wafting through alleyways of nostalgia,
your hand in mine on our pristine beach.




Details | Ballade |

Ride a Speckled Horse

Ride a Speckled Horse

Half Moon Bay
My little speckled grey
How unwilling you were
But I'd rented you that day

An apaloosa dream- straining
at the rope
He was  the first choice
worthy of my hope

But he led you out- that
cautious owner of the 'string'
The one I wanted- being feared as-
 too much horse - to tame

No cajoling and no show of force
Could lift your heart to run
Weren't you  used- to-
always being, abused by everyone ?

In shame, at that slap of reins
 across your neck
I  let go - content to feel the 
rythm of your walk and
not the rocking of your canter

Turned your jaded head toward
 a trail down to the sea
Smelt the salt air with you
and felt the wide expanse
 of beach and wind on me

Under the gulls glide
your gait became wide
And like a rocking horse 
beside the rolling sea,
you and I glided,
close to eternity

I could have cantered on forever
when you gave your heart to me
And though I'm sure, 
that many tried
 It's few I know,
have ever  felt,
the magic of your stride

 Suzanne Delaney


Details | Sestina |

Premise of Joy

Joy cannot be raised as though it ride the back of a song.
It is a gift and for that we should laud the giver with praise.
The heart races into overdrive as the mind fills with wonder.
Our physical and vocal constraints suddenly are unbound.
The mind and senses suddenly to a higher plane are lifted
and our reactions no longer seem to need a leap of faith.

When we walk the aisle to say “I do”, we do consider faith.
I seem to recall such feelings of humility, my body in song,
in tune with the lilt of the moment and the suppressed lift,
of the shout building within me.  I offer ever lasting praise,
of the promise of one walking to me, to He whom I am bound.
As, in unison, all who watched us say I do, approve in wonder.

They remember their own vows, their own time of wonder.
I remember standing before the observation room in faith,
promising Him that if only this little babe not yet bound 
to me, already powerfully making my heart burst to song, 
were only normal, I would raise him to give Him all praise.
I loved the smell of baby powder, as the blanket was lifted. 

Days at our beach house, a respite which always was a lift,
from the day to day routine of work, was always wonderful.
To be able to walk on the beach and stand in awe and praise,
knowing that the sun would rise and tide would fall in faith,
as the sand dabs hid and the seagulls surround them in song,
the power is in Him Who made the earth and to Him is bound.

One cannot be a true southerner and not be honor bound,
to explore the beauty of the Blue Ridge; to smell the lift
of air rising from the basin gently through long leaf singing,
on the outcrop above, as the eagle circles in wonderment.
Exploring Chimney Rock and crawling through with faith,
the Devil’s Kitchen, giving such surroundings due praise.

How could one possibly contain and not express praise,
for such intricate beauty, surely every man is duty bound
to seek out and enjoy beautiful things which speak of faith,
those simple vibrant things which give life a joyous lift.
We need those things which fill us with so much wonder,
we feel our nerves tingle, our skin crawl, and heart sing.

A Life devoid of giving praise, never feels the spirit lift.
If threads of doubt are bound, life can be filled of wonder.
Life can produce such faith, our being delights in song.

My words are:  sing,  praise,  wonder,  bound,  lift,  faith
© 26 Nov 2010 For Deb's "Joy to the World"contest


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