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Prose Poetry Ocean Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Ocean

These Prose Poetry Ocean poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Ocean. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Ocean poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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The Autumn Mist

Mellow autumn….how refreshing!
Draw nigh that my soul may find delight 
In the vibrant hues of red and gold
The long walks in cool brisk air 
Watching the wild geese fly south  
In quiet solitude, latent dreams resurrect 
They haunt my fragrant reverie
As I walk a familiar path, down these steps of stone,
That lead me to “my place” by the sea!
Where the cries of hungry seagulls resound
As they squabble over a miniscule meal, 
Wild surf crash into boulders-twin, standing in its midst 
Nonchalantly, I toss my loafers aside, 
“Where are you today, Sir Knight?”, I inquire aloud
“I can not find you in this mist!”  
“One moment you are here inside my thoughts
The instant  I turn, then you are gone!”  
Like ocean spray, refreshing, you then vanish!
So, here I stroll upon this desolate shore, alone

The fireplace lit, soft, pink candles abound
What ambiance these feelings inspire
"Where are you this dreamy day?"
Hear how fiercely the ocean roars!  
Wild and relentless, bashing boulders in its path!
Winds softly whispering, brush my cheek, and instinctively, I smile
”Was that a kiss from you?  I whisper.  But there comes no reply. 
Only the silence in the whispering wind
“Gentle, autumn winds, do you know of my fate? 
“Have you no secrets to share with me?”
“Do tell, is it you in the mist and wind?”
“Or are you  just a wandering phantom 
Lost, upon this beautiful, shore?”
“Or, perhaps a magician from afar, casting random spells?”
“What grateful audience you have found in these,
The mighty sea and its countless creatures!  
Listen!  Hear their thunderous applause for you!”
“Is it you I see, in my autumn dream?
“Is it you within the mist?”



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Earth Fire Water Wind

                      A Journey With The Wind.

I had a dream that felt greater than reality, lost on earth
wearing a gown bare feet bleeding leaving behind traces 
for my sons to find me.

My hand was begging reaching out suddenly, a feeling 
I held the wind, yes the wind in the palm of my hand a friend, 
to join me through that journey toward the ocean, knowing it 
will soon fly away, who can hold the wind and make it belong, 
I did.

Wind Oh wind, meet my sons, whisper my name they are the 
ones who care, they will rescue me even blind folded, they will 
smell my bodies odor and sense where I am. 

Oh wind, you are the only one here on this earth I feel your presence, 
fly away now carry a tear place it on their cushion and deliver my 
message to them, I will wait even forever, bring them back to me.

My friend my wind, search for them, find them knock, on their window 
If they are sleeping they will wake up & run towards me follow my blood 
trail find their way to carry me softly & cure my scars wipe away my
tears & fear of drowning alone at the shore.

Suddenly the light faded darkness took over covering the brightness 
away I pledged, mother nature I am not yet ready, sun do not burn 
and light a fire, Oh sun where are you , don't leave me alone, I started humming my babies melody to be heard 
and come to my rescue.

Deprived to see them in the morn for years, deprived to look in their 
eyes, deprived to eat with them, drink with them, deprived to smell their 
perfume, destiny was against me due to the war in our country, for 
years they were always flying away around this earth, to settle.

I felt cold shivering, suddenly the warmth of my children's breath 
around gave me the strength I needed, Wind! my friend! you 
found them and carried them across the ocean,Oh, the look into 
each others eyes cannot be describe, for the first time I felt they 
were real we fixed for seconds but a whole book can be created 
through the emotions and communications that occurred during 
those precious moments, 
a language of its own.

The echoing of their voices was heard, what can we say mum except 
we love you for being there when we needed you,we love you because 
of who you are, we love you because you care, we love you for not sinking 
during our absence because we needed you on the shore, together listen
to nature`s beauty, birds twittering, fish whispering, 
waves dancing & splashing.

We love you because you find life in everything you touch, and if not, 
you blow life into everything, we love you, your breath has kept 
us alive, your breath is as strong as the wind that carried us to you. 
Come on mum, it was a long journey with the wind on this earth 
for all of us, lets go home, together. 


 Contest,Earth Fire Water Wind for Debbie Guzzi   (WIN Honorable Mention) Therese Bacha
26/4/2013                                                           



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Sunsets and Journeys

Poem about beautiful sunsets and the journey of life.

Spent all day walking on the beautiful powdery white beach. Picking
up oceans treasures, scallop shells calico in colors rich and diverse,
conch, coral, cockel, Sand dollar, sea biscuit, lightning welk, snell shells
of every kind. Ocean breakers emerald crashing and rumbling up onto
the porcelain beach. Wade out let it splash all over me so cooling and
refreshing along with ocean breeze. Splash on the face I lick it off,
exquisitely salty. sand Pipers skiddering along, Pelicans and sea gulls
in the indigo sky catching my eye. Such beautiful things my spirit uplifted.
Sun now kissing the ocean in an explosion of colors. I sit down
 to take it all in. Orange, scarlet, green, violet, purple, amber,
 gold, emerald, jasper, amathyst, amber, alibaster and every
 hue inbetween. A glorious feastfor the eye and mind
 to put at ease. Dark now as the golden moon
takes it's Majasties place. What a simply wonderful day.
Giving sigh it's over I could do this forever. Time to go back to my home
in Arkansas. We have beautiful sunsets there as well. Beautiful mountains,
streams, forests, springs, caves, clear lakes await for me to revisit.
The air is clean with a fragrant scent, purple, yellow, orange, lavender,
azure, indigo, cardinal, porcalin, pink and more colors than I can
describe wild flowers frow. Clear blue rivers rush with white roaring 
rapids to float, forests of emerald abundant to explore. Mountains 
treacherous to scale, Hot springs to sooth and heal both body and 
spirit. Diamonds to find, red, champagne, blue, sparkling enchanting 
exquisite. Crystals bound in the mines near the healing hot springs,
amythest, garnets, water crystals, rubies and jasper in georgeous
colors crafted into rings, bracelets, pendants, watch bands and so
many more elegant things. I may never get to return to the beloved 
beaches again in my life, but I still have all these wonderous things
in My Natural Arkansas. However if I am fortunate enough to return to 
the glorious oceans and beaches, I will once again enjoy the treasures,
pleasures, sunsets  to behold so bold and vibrant, more wonderful
memories if it comes to pass. one never knows for certain what lays
ahead down lifes path so onward we go and enjoy each blessing
that the Lord has prepared to us to see. Hopefully we will learn on
this journey to love, care for and share with each other.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Addicted Towards Happiness

     ~Tonight A Free Ride ~

Tonight my thoughts are running towards 
my healing ocean, becoming the place 
where voluntarily I am convinced to watch 
the thousands of stars in the sky, illuminating 
my shore on arrival, to share my lively routine 
visits with this one whale friend that accidentally, 
have come to meet a few months ago. 

Approaching with a jester it looked me in the eye 
moved its head asking, why am I gloomy tonight?
come lady ride on my back let me take you away 
from your everyday thoughts let us experience our 
journey I invited the stars in the sky to lighten up 
your dimness tonight.

Yet, now that we have each other try a different 
approach towards your loneliness the wind is a 
friend and will not blow you away the moon 
promised a short visit to accompany the stars.

Accepting the proposal of that ride it will clarify
the energy of my inner body and soul the way 
my friend the whale has it looking up thinking 
counting the stars will give me the opportunity 
to dig deeper towards my senses, my spaciousness, 
peacefulness as a new approach. 

Suddenly with a falling star nothing seemed 
impossible to arouse my intense curiosity 
about life's mysteries how I ended up feeling 
that lonesome before I met my friend,
determined to lean towards my depth and discover 
my beauty and power that I have abandoned, 
when I failed to notice how much emptiness 
existed in my depth. 

Instantly I started feeling addicted towards 
my happiness I allowed my thoughts to stir
my presentiments understand my liveliness, 
after descending on shore.

Once arrived I thanked the stars that allowed 
me to enjoy the ocean cooperated to help me 
redeem an aluminous light through
my coming years. 

That voyage assembled my gladness 
to lean towards all the advantages 
that actually already exist beyond.
Thank you my friend. 
Always.


Therese Bacha
June 27 2013


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Siren's Song

I long for the open sea while gentle waves call to me in my sleep
Dreams of salt air and a boundless horizon
No words ride the night, yet I hear her song and know her voice.

Stand I here at waters' edge while the moon bids her rise to greet me
To embrace her as she beckons me to follow
To become one with her, or perish in the striving

Marooned, here I stand on this island in the sun
Afraid to plunge into the depths, I am rooted…captive
Denying myself passage to that distant horizon

O happy tide, would that I were as free to leave


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Healing Touch

There is a certain healing touch
     in ocean waves, the powerful progression of unending undulations, white caps           crashing with determination, dancing with destiny.

There is a certain healing touch
     as the salty strike of ocean air sends serenity and touches all my senses.

There is a certain healing touch
     when the cooling spray from of sea water washes with its’ wetness and soothes           my heated soul.

There is a certain healing touch
     in the silencing and slowing of footsteps as they try to run in sand.

There is a certain healing touch
     in being moved by innocence of children and the sandcastles they command.

Sitting near the surf, I watch the roll of ocean waves, soak up the strike of salty air, am washed by cooling waters, listen for the sound of footsteps in the sand, and am moved by the innocence of children in their play.

{em>PS contest: "Impress me with a small poem"   Nature  © Sue k Green

I feel healing from all five fingers of their touch.


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THE STORMY DAY

THE STORMY DAY

Awoken by 
Rumbling in the 
Deep distance
Shallow waters subside and 
Gliding across white wakes
Makes for the sanctuary,
A distant glimmer in the 
Heart of the storm bird.
Building and gathering, 
The mind on the shore 
Busies itself and 
Attempt numerous things 
Without success. 
The dark brooding hood
Brings fear and loathing 
As struggling winds gather
To take the solitary man
Out to water. 
What is he doing?
The rumblings fade 
As silent glistening eyes
Peer out across the clear horizon.
Tears fall from a cluttered sky,
Having raised up 
From this great lively mass. 
Endless minute movements 
Slowly carry the man 
Out to sea.


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Rich Man Poor Man

Human tastes vary and so are the desperate cravings to capture the best in human ambition,
A more desperate thirst for fame, riches and for power can be a low, vulgar bitter taste,
I admire the spirit of the man who sees richer recompense as a sign of alleviated misery,
And I see goodness in smiles and enlightened hearts of happy people that enjoy their life,
Men who enjoy what's free in life, the softness a beauty of a June night and warm breezes,
The calm clear loveliness of a dark sky where moon beams shine and an evening star glows,
Acknowledging wonder as the smallest sounds of the night, owl's hooting, crickets singing,
Enjoying the night time smell where different breezes unlock, the sweetest secret essences,
It could be the leafy aroma of the trees or the scents of many wild lovely forest flowers,

 
A man who knows the price of a wives 'I love you' when he comes home from his daily work,
A man who knows the value of money and would rather his name valued in poor mans prayers,
There are two choices in this world, greed or contentment but they do not go hand in hand,
So we see these choices as two garments spread out for your selection, which do you choose,
One is tattered slops of your own righteousness for ambition, to waste life chasing money,
Or be happy and live in a world that you can enjoy and afford, no one banging on your door,
Choosing between the two seem to be very simple and even a child would tell which one it is,
The fact is most grown men would choose the road to ambition and riches and all its burdens,
To these men a brilliant morning sunshine means nothing, a morning mist on a lake is wasted.

To rush through life chasing gold, not hearing curlews in far off moors, is the poor man,
The rich see joy on a beautiful day listening to quails piping from green corn in twilight,
To feel a flush of happiness along margins of a beach, waves break in flame at your feet,
To hear strokes of an oar, somewhere in the dim obscure and list, wild cries of the tern,
A plover that never sleeps soundly, sweeps past and plunges onward, until gone from sight,
The man who understands real treasures in life, remembers happy times, into his last days,
Greedy men remember too late when old and grey, reflecting through an ocean of wet tears,
These musing men spring forward forgetting poetry of the ocean and a new mornings sunrise,
Then let them go from beauty, the understanding of beauty is wasted, the poor man is rich.  


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'No Quatrains, But Refrains' - Part 3

(a poetry collection)
for The Beloved and in honor of Mevlana Jallaladin Rumi … illusions don´t matter when you see the best of yourself reflected by the beloved in the garden pool of your affection… * * * … your ocean reverberates in mine, the terror of darkness in its thunder, sunrise-surges in its motion, and resonating to all, part of me bows like the willow, while another rises toward the moon as powerful, but taller and straighter than poplars of the mountains… ~~~~~~~ We all are girls and boys in the sandbox… and the ocean beyond is our dream… ~~~~~~~ … like fox kittens tumbling about on the sunlit steps of home in forest glade and field, so lovers test one another in hope of that childhood enduring like the sun…


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DANCE OF SOULS

Salty air breathed from crystalline peaks
I breathe in And catch a glimpse 
of the dancing, bowed bodies.

They perform a graceful ballet;
like arrows shot from an archer’s bow;
they leap, breach and roll.

Their eyes have seen ages of brine and shifting sands.
I wonder if they really are the “Watchers”; 
like the “Dogon” stories portray them.
Did they once have legs instead of fins 
and can we really be their children?

Perhaps that is why they are so quick to help us;
Why a child who can not speak can suddenly come to life?
He won’t be silenced again, 
after all, he swam with the dolphins.  
Could it be the magic of the dance that heals?

Odd, that they are always there when needed
And can transform a stagnating life 
into a miraculous moment of rebirth!


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Titanic The Unsinkable Ship

What people believed in 1912.
Was a myth in the truth, placed on a shelf.
Was the unthinkable, unsinkable..
The fourty six thousand gross tons of steal.
Would never kneel or break its bow.
The ship could never sink or rust.
Was rumor going round, we all could trust.
The crowd showd up to celebrate.
As the ship was Christened to show its fate.
But The White Star Line was cruising fine.
When it hit a berg, under a darkened sky.
There it lie, with many to cry.
At the bottom of the sea she'll die.
They said the Titanic could never sink.
Their opinion a myth, now she's on the brink.
With fourty six thousand gross tons of steal.
The voyagers finished their final meal.
To the bottom of the ocean they went.
A many to cry, while she made her descent.
The Titanic was a ship in trouble.
But now a myth, and a pile of rubble.
At the bottom's where she made her grave.
A sigh of relief, for the lives they saved.
To the rescue, and on the double.
Titanic was a ship in trouble..
Her maiden voyage, now turn the page.
Thousand of people, in a fit of rage.
The news it read that we all should mourn.
The Titanic's passengers, their lives were torn.
A myth of truth placed in the news.
The unsinkable ship..Would never lose.

Titanic-Poetry by Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2009,2014..
ALL rights reserved.. 


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Dead White Things and Recurring Dreams

‘Although she forever tried, never once had any scenes from this recurring dream 
differ with even a slightest of variance from each original beginning. The only things 
that changed was its outcome ending and the never ever still - wanderings of the 
sea ice! 
It always began with her looking out into the vastness of a cold Arctic Ocean while 
standing on the weather darkening coastline somewhere on Nova Scotia. There and 
then is when heard are these far off windblown cries:
 Suddenly, it is her eyes that can now spy from new heights above to see a likeness 
of her same person being physically swept up and taken captive by a storm’s ocean 
going gales.  
To her horror, instantly realized is that she had been herself carried off, and now 
wind bound on an emotional heading with an aim toward a certain point in time. 
Incapable, is the power of her mind to stop this meeting, its draw demands her 
rushed presence! 
What will prove to be laying in wait will have an effect on her soul that initiates the 
loosing of a fifth year of welled up tears.  Somewhere out there on this desolate sea 
ice there is a new place and new time of another true motherhood loss. - And now 
as always, being nightly reborn to face her life’s tragic turn of unwarranted 
consequence, she sleeps…?
Ever the survivor, she would now dream the dreamt dreams of a lonely orphaned 
seal pup and the last outcome of yet another nightmare confrontation coming from 
out of a traumatic childhood era belonged of her past…
These hurts were placed upon them through no fault of their own! As such, there 
was nothing new to balance except an even greater weight pinned on two helpless 
souls. Wearily, both shared the burden of pain that came tethered to each of their 
world’s constant of nightmare...’
And now, to save the future of a stark white seal pup, her thoughts echoed of both 
their loneliness. Only now, those once far and away heard cries had grown louder…
As for her nights of continually repeated visions of this ghostly Harp Seal pup, 
recognized, was that it hadn’t hailed from a performing circus act. Moreover, and 
unlike any of the other identical looking orphaned seal pups on the Arctic ice, for this 
one, appeal came not from knowing of its at-one-time snow-white fur. – Instead, it 
was the two sad eyes that never looked away from her that had always drawn the 
little girl’s unwilling attention...


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THE TIDAL HEART

"In the 1840s, two sisters fall in love with the same man.
                       While drunk, he writes a letter proposing marriage
                       to the wrong one."

My friend from New Zealand calls from Palm Beach
to tell me in her lovely down-under tones
that David, her husband of 40 years is gone.  
She'll go in August, that august month, to take home 
what's left of the hearty man who loved her--
admired me.  Ashes to ashes, earth to earth, 
dust to dust, or in the case of the precious 65% 
of the body, water, returned to water.

New Zealand, Yes! "Green Dolphin Street," old film 
of transport.  Lana Turner in her finest role. 
Van Heflin, concealing love for the bride sent-for 
in error--her inconsolable sister fleeing 
to the sea, whose incoming tide entrapped her. 
A rocky climb to safe haven with the holy women 
at the top of her washed-out world saved her.
Poor girl, first time an ocean ordered 
"Get thee to a nunnery!"

I have been a witness to the mysterious tide 
of Mont St. Michel's 'plein mer,' its glistening lip, gliding 
snake-like to reclaim what was solid, solid no more;
threaten feckless strollers struck with sea fever,
or a would-be bride in wrongful death.  Solid, this earth, 
as far as we know, "terra firma," yet terra agua 
summons us: the cobalt ocean of my childhood, 

a sparkling Paris fountain, its sibling in St.-Michael 
town, assorted rivers I have loved: Georgia's 
Chattahoochee, the fabled Seine, or the Flint River 
of family outings. These move the plasmic stream 
within, washing where the ashes of my brothers 
enrich the ocean.  David's destination, as he 
follows their lead, and Yes! I will join them 
when the tidal heart runs out.


                  for my brothers, George and Jim


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shell

 
What purpose is there for a shell is it to provide protection for the littlest  creatures is it to be used as a quote for withdrawn children is it to hear the ocean and take it home does a shell make a turtle special was that the reason it could beat the hare in a race the symbolic means of a shell is to protect and even if you cant see you have your own little turtle shell thatll keep you safe and warm also if you listen really closely youll know the soothing sound of of the ocean a shell makes is just like the sound of your own heartbeat


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Best Friends

You are my best friend
The one I choose for life
You fluttered in on a whim
That led us to become man and wife.
What could love bring at such an early age?
Surely not adventures such as these--
An exotic paradise and romance
Full of warm ocean tides and a kind ocean breeze.


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Bond to Tide

Each breath, a pool of hope, rising and falling, the tide of my being. How did I learn this? I 
need not think to do it. Does the ocean feel the same? It seems to work so hard, forward 
and back, pushing the shore. Could it stop? Perhaps only I am captivated in this moment. A 
coincidence? Our souls pull together. How easy to forget the rhythm of these breaths. They 
are mine...yet I see them in water? How long does this ocean pulse? Has all been lost? Or 
was nothing to gain? Just be. Ocean and me. I am sure my breath is drawn in with the tide.