Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


See and share Beautiful Nature Photos and amazing photos of interesting places



Beach Elegy Poems | Elegy Poems About Beach

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

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 | 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.