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Beach Health Poems | Beach Poems About Health

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

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Details | Haibun |

Images in Sophisticated Colors - Rewritten, have another go

In early morning light I wheel myself outdoors. The vibrating air lively with small dancing aphids. In distance near, that booming sound of crashing waves against the sand, waves with their perpetual wish to walk the shore. Waves, so powerful, so strong yet so dumb, a caged animal wanting to escape. I want to escape the prison that sometimes is me, but not now. The air is fresh, the light is sharp, the wind brings longing and the salty fragrance of jelly fish in their frail beautiful dance in water, so plump and sorrowful in death on the shore.

waltz in ozone sun song of life and love in blue: waves of soothing sea
The beach also represents my love for dance and motion in harmony with nature, The evening light with its orange colours chant words without speech, that only need to find their way into sentences, born in movement. Stars and nightly black guide thoughts into music, where I see me dance the way I once did.
soft water ripples around the wheels, inviting to dance forever
I write down images in sophisticated colours, the eternal dance of fragile mentality, and physical injury, seated here, in the evening shade. Slowly darkness sends away the tangerine sky, covering me with a blanket of warm yellow, and small smithereens of starlight. A myriad specks reflected in the soothingly speaking sea that nibbles at my feet in tender kisses of friendship.
musical shower courage in frail harmony, water in motion.

Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017


Details | Light Poetry |

SUMMER BEACH WEAR

they walk in suite
that are thin
ask how didn't they get in
its so tight
you see thur right
you can't help but stare
back out and bare
where i live theyer near
those lady
SUMMER BEACH WEAR

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |

Winter Beach

After the rain, 
the speckled glint of shimmering sand
is now muddy brown.
Like a blind, closed tight on the warmth of summer,
the winter beach has shrunken in,
changing the colours of my day into
a darker palette, shades of grey.
The sun shriveled
pale faced and worn
as the cold season begins.

Seagulls a beacon
against a slate November sky
their sound, comfort to a lonely beach.
The steps down to the water, pea green,
slimy weed on stone
bright against an ink-rippled tide.

Seaweed colours bleed into my mind while
textures playfully mingle.
The salt air stings my nostrils
caresses my lungs with wellness.
Sea sounds carry from the shores of Wales
as I crunch the length of the ebbing milk tide.

I look to the horizon and imagine another me
walking a beach somewhere over there,
listening to my thoughts, 
as they channel the sea
Grateful for this beauty, the gift of the nature
I look over my shoulder, my footprints remain
solid, as in a freshly cemented path
their sound, echoes in the shells.

Copyright © Eiken Laan | Year Posted 2010


Details | Free verse |

TO BE BROKEN IS TO BE HONEST - Collaboration with Space Cadet

TO BE BROKEN IS TO BE HONEST
Voice: Space Cadet (Wesley C)

The sand is a warm window; 
from the sill, 
     I watch skiffs in the distance sail away from me.
Sea opens to self-sought solitude.

That one day, distant lands became familiar playground
     for children of men, cruelly joined in time and place,
     by dice thrown into air, dimpled cubes with my name
     and theirs.

I hear those children laugh in their sunny day, ice cream innocence.
Their language a sound from once familiar foreign land.

I stand in pain, refuse the hand that asks
     to help 
And wonder:
     if to be a child 
     is to be honest, 
     am I blind 
     to their askance stares? With each step will I 
     leave behind their glares?

As I lift my head from my feet, with eyes toward the sea, my scars 
     are only reflections of the footprints they perceive to be as me:
Lines in the flesh-colored sand,
     wilted under uneven sea edges, remainders of the battle of separation.
     Craters, crimson petals blemished in the glass sun.
     A lonely pursuit.
     A sand rose's stigmata on my chest.
     Silence polished on my window reflection.

Yet I gleam, my back to a windowless beach:

With each day's dusk,
     we all fracture,
     light decays
     myriad aspects
     etched experiences

To be broken 
     is to be honest

Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2016

Details | I do not know? |

Port of Call

Port of Call


Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

with the breath of the ocean a caressing balm,
soothing pained memories away,
to the swaying of a solitary palm.


Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

feeling the brushing away of all past turmoil,
on a quest for solace, ever so hard to find,
yet comforted by the crashing of the waves,
as the tide cleanses all pain,
and leaves despair far, far behind.


Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

drenched in a sea-breeze of mist,
that hushes the ache of bygone moons,
tasting the salty tang on my lips,
as the burnished sun,
over the distant horizon,
swoons,

and dips.


Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

searching, ever searching,
for a slice of solitude,
as memory bids a final adieu,
reaching under the sea so vast,
and seeking comfort in the depths,
while embracing,
the tomorrows to come,
wishing that they be true.


Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

seeing my truths drown,
as they slip beneath the turquoise waters,

feeling my heart ablaze,
with a passion that rarely falters.


Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

yet knowing that I am home at long last,
wishing the waves would wash away,
the defences that once stood,
like an impregnable wall.


Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

I have found, at long last,

my final port of call.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Genius Sorta Smells

Welcome to the integral states of up and becoming polypathologists,
tautologically
deep MindSense/BodyFeel ecologists
listening graceful co-mentors before gratefully speaking
ecoconscious evolutionaries.

Past Yang political Angers 
recreate Future Yin-Fear of hated economic decomposition,
recession,
depression, etc....

Co-Arising

Past Yang-Truths
recreating Future YinYin Fertility
of WinWin healthy regenerativity.

Let us check our polypathic receptors together.

What do monocultures smell like to you?

Like death maybe?

What about monopoly of ownership and power?

Smells too hot-humid-sweaty for me.
And, not that fresh sweat either.
That old dried-in rank
building up in some dark closed airless
locked up silo of uncirculating fat deposits
for months without acknowledged end.

What about monochromatic?

Like death racing supremacist skin 
and gut-burning ethno-arrogant fire.

OK then, now to brighter options.
What does polyculture smell like to you?

Like rich fertile soil
under sweet wildflower meadows
surrounded by lavender bushes
and wild cherries in my mouth
and on my dripping hands,
while stomping grapes into wine
that smells as rich and fertile as maple's spring sap.

How about polymorphic fragrances?

Green grasses 
and wooded forests of trees,
yet also bloody metallic-boned noses
and surfing seas
and a faint whiff of well-fed farty asses.

Hmmm. Polyhedral?

Fragrant fractal fusions of surfing saltwater
on a warm sunny day
with a cool pacific breeze
caressing my nose and eyes and ears and atlantic hair,
noticing horizons as clouds
yet also other seasonable opportunities,
reasonable dialectical dipolarity,
the equivo-ambivalent center of surf Yang Inhale
with Yin Stretching Out concave...

Sounds like a good day at the beauty beach?

No, that's the smell of polypathy,
total genius
smells like money that's been sea-salt stored
in a very special place
by a very special someone,
wanting to invest totally in me,
each Other,
and Earth's full Tribal health.

Polypaths smell like healthy cooperative wealth.
To me, anyway.
How 'bout you?


Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose |

HEAT WAVE'S COLDEST DISPOSITION

Coming out of a cold season 
Which I admire
Going into a warmer season
Causing me to perspire

But I do desire this warmer season
I claim and commit to spring 
Speaking  of a  seasonal  special  emotion
The next season  causes  me to  have

A melt down of considerable disposition
And  yes, cook an egg on the hood 
Of your car.  Even to hot to barbeque.
I'll  take that cue excuse me.  

I despise the season, SIZZLING 
SUMMER, when  cold lemonade is 
Worth more than a fifty dollar bill.
I'm liable to stick my head 

Inside of  a grocery store  freezer
As the store clerk says chill man its 
Not that bad.
Perspiration touching the eyeballs burning.

Hungry for the coldest winter, yearning for
A crystal clear tall glass of frigid  AIR!
there's a boiling point of  perspiration in creases
I never knew I had.

Where is the first  snow flake I'm wishing for? 

Copyright © VAL BROOKLYN Rogers BLK PANTHER | Year Posted 2017

Details | Light Poetry |

SLASH THE BEACH

its summer not only bummer
get out no doudt
have some fun
kept this in mind
its vacation time
read the road sign
stop and hop to the bash
with both feet
SLASH THE BEACH

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2012