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Beach Sympathy Poems | Beach Poems About Sympathy

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

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Details | Dramatic Verse | |

the day you flew to Heaven


           We knew , it was if a moment stopped in time 
              hearing the news before most of the World did
           He loved to fly his plane from Colorado to Monterey Bay
           He was a avid golfer at Pebble Beach respected 

           He had loves and passions from many places 
           deciding to fly low through the overcast red sunset
            Not only did he love music and inspire all 
            He loved his Plane , he will always remain a beautiful Soul

              The next day it was confirmed ..all saddened 
             It was John Denver's plane that went down
             Today in Pacific Grove stands the Memorial 
             So Kiss me and smile for me we will ~
              always in loving memory 
               OH babe ,  do we hate you go ~    
                            
    

         Inspired by ; contest in Music and Loss of an Artist
                   "Leaving on a Jet Plane "
             

Copyright © Shanity Rain

Details | Blank verse | |

At the Beach with Elizabeth

I wish my granddaughter paper dolls:
"Princess Elizabeth and Margaret Rose,"
circa 1940s.  I wish her pick-up sticks
of rainbow colors, or a rubber ball,
Say, and its metallic jacks.  I

wish her a Monopoly board, lots
of property---rows of dominoes
as black as the hearts 
of those bad boys who ran away.  "I wish, 
I wish, with all my heart," says E.

with wave of good witch 
Glinda's starry wand, while I ask 
Bring Elizabeth back 
that heartless pack who 
would not let her play.


Copyright © Nola Perez

Details | Couplet | |

Unknown

Who am I?
Am I defined by what is near in sight?
Am I defined by what I have done,
Or am I defined by what I could become?

Perhaps I'm of no use.
To him, or her, or I, nor you.
Or perhaps I'm too misunderstood to be defined,
And it is something like understanding that comes in time.

And if to the world I'm never shown,
Yet in my own light I've grown and grown,
And so I can know no happiness but my own--
The reason for my smile, to you, will forever be unknown.

I do not pray for the world to know my name.
For it and verse; the letters are the same.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads,
I pray his pain my words to keep. 

Should his eyes rain on my page,
Better tears than storms of rage.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads.
I pray his pain my words to keep.

And if to the world you're never shown,
Yet in your own light you've grown and grown,
And so you know no happiness but your own.
Let the reason for your smile, to you, only be known.

Copyright © Kristopher Higgs

Details | Elegy | |

The desert was a beach.

I stood by the periphery… 
gracelessly doling derivative remarks 
(all that is rhetorical in rhetoric and blatant in denial) 
upon my comrades, the dust shot Sandinistas of midsummer masochism, 
the caliphs of ‘Baltic Bay’.  
“The armistice laid flowers upon 
the salt seasoned lip of the hatch-backed hawk…” 
Blood fell passively between his heartbroken legs, 
siphoned from each and every available pore; 
the oxygenated irony of pneumatic Gnosticism: 
“The desert was a beach.” 
They say that war is a catalytic catharsis, a palatial reprieve,
without languid logic or porous rationality, 
the emancipation of masculinity, 
castrated by the wire… 
I thought it was hell… I was taught to think otherwise… 
The torrential shards of verbal promiscuity 
stole light unto the fore, 
anxiously negotiating 
the parochial labyrinth of incandescent egotism, 
intrinsically denied.  
Rare, poached howitzers… laden with anxiety 
bore slight from the barbed-wire battalion 
of ill-fitting idiots, 
shuffling their feet, settling their nerves, 
sealing their fate with 
slack pot meandering midst snip sniped surprise.
“The technicality of principalities, dukedoms and deceit, 
tune the tuneless melody and save your soul from hate. “ 
Their calibre unknown, their reasons unfounded… 
the calypso calling cantaloupes of entrepreneurial acumen 
shot black with dusk… slid unto the night. 
Corporal rationale: “Half an hour of ambiguity…” 
Lieutenant liquidation: “Twenty minutes of woe…” 
Collective privacy: “Ten minutes of philistine philanthropy…”
Collective piracy: “Five minutes of... … ….” 
Towel clenched soviets, eager and resentful, 
scape-goaded the photographic horde into meagre submission… 
subverting the course of justice. 
Rented Kalashnikovs rattled ravenous replies… 
once, twice, three times a corpse… 
“Androgyny and xenophiles, the pasteurised provocateur… 
draped in Prada propped dynamics, mechanically aware…”   
Desiccant faeces flew five feet into the air; 
the aluminium gilded lavatories received the short end of the stick, 
figuratively emasculated… 
literally liquidated within (without) the… humdrum humidity. 
Gabriel dictated the proceedings. 
The abortive restraint of sycophantic silencers 
and Hassidic hallucinations, 
graced by a political patriarchy… 
urinating upon the synthetic soil.

     

 

    


        

Copyright © William Ward

Details | Lyric | |

The Apple PASTURE

DONE



                             The Apple PASTURE

Oh how I long
To drift into the apple pasture.
Were once was and all well meet.
A pure and dear site.
Where silver reflection cover the still waters that holds the golden
grains of morality and the grazing souls lie young amounce no stars.
Oh how I long
To drift into the apple pasture
Were winds smell of melon and the trees whisper spring corals in the mellow dark and best of light and time creeps into no tomorrow.



                                               Jay

Copyright © JAY JOHNSON

Details | Blank verse | |

Girl On The Beach

My heart broke for the girl on the beach.
For her innocent repose in the hammock,
For her smiling, dreaming eyes,
For her gentle curves and sweet lips,
For the enthusiasm of her travel,
For the vivacity of her youth,
For her fragile, beauteous soul,
For her bare toes upon the silver sand
For her ankles dipped in the crystal sea.
For her violation and untimely death,
For the pain of her parents,
For the anguish of her travelling companion,
For their dumbfounded devastation,
For pointless, mindless tragedy
For a world that breeds monsters
For her encounter with monsters,
For monsters who destroy life and beauty,
For those who suck the good from this life,
For my own daughter and imagining how I would feel,
For the inconceivable heartache, decimation,
For the sheer pulverising horror,
For myself and my incapacity to help her, or those close to her,
Or say anything that really matters except
My heart broke for the girl on the beach.

Copyright © Tony Bush