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Beach History Poems | Beach Poems About History

These Beach History poems are examples of Beach poems about History. These are the best examples of Beach History 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 | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatern |

Columns and Ranks, Fog of War intermingled

Standing straight in columns and ranks, 
Heads newly shaved by the barber, 
Carrying guns loaded with blanks: 
New recruits after Pearl Harbor. 
     (Our foes wait in their well-defended lair,)
The Generals inspected troops, 
     (Imagining that they’ll stay safe and warm.) 
Standing straight in columns and ranks; 
Afterwards they broke into groups, 
     (All my soldiers ready their arms to bear.)
And marched towards the ships’ gangplanks. 
     (Bugles sound: Battalions! Companies! Form!)
They boarded ships with guns and tanks 
To England, the Atlantic crossed. 
     (Our siege cannons thunder; smoke mists the air.)
Standing straight in columns and ranks, 
     (While thinking of barricades each must storm,) 
They’d free Europe at any cost. 
     (Once over the walls, we’ll know what’s in store.) 
Allied troops endured dire losses; 
     (It’s hard to see through misty fogs of war.)
Gaining a foothold up the banks. 
Heroes sleep beneath the crosses 
Standing straight in columns and ranks.

Columns and Ranks (Quatern 9-25-2014)
Fog of War (Ottava Rima 8-19-2014)
by Mark Halliday / WarriorPoet

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

Have You Ever Read

Dedicated to an author by the name of William Golding... Enjoy!!!

~Two boys meet on an island
~~One is skin 'n bones
~~~The other one is chubby

They discover a lagoon~
Ralph teases him by calling~~
him "Piggy" -  how mean!!~~~

Piggy asks him if
There are other people on 
The island with 'em

He has no clue
But this'll answer Piggy's question --
Other boys appear - 
All diverse shapes and sizes
What'll happen next??

You'll see...

Have you ever read The Lord of the Flies?
I recommend it if yah haven't read it yet - I must admit
It's a book full of adult words and it's simply...FASCINATING! - no lies
You should read it - or you'll regret it!

Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

The Glass Goddess

All around me
Great cities made of sand.
Green sky scrapers poke through the ground 
To thrive in life’s strict conditions
And melt away with the tide…

Great houses made of cards
Form lines, and tightrope walk existence,
Knowing that any moment, the wrong brick may fall
And buckle our world to its knees
As Mother Earth shouts Jenga! from the sidelines.

So while were here
We dance with the Glass Goddess 
Poised miles above reality,
Leaping over the heavens on our domino stilts-

We floor it in the sky
Living death in the fast lane, 
Seizing the day
Because any moment 
We could disappear 

Jacob Reinhardt	

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |

The Sieve of Time

The Sieve of Time

Cast ashore,
along the banks of time,

whirling through the passing years,
clinging to my futile scribbles set in rhyme,

Cast ashore,
thrust into an unrehearsed pantomime,

clenching slivers of joy as weariness descends,
lulled into a peaceful slumber exhilaratingly sublime.

Cast ashore,
hazily adrift, a dandelion seed on the wings of time,

trapped in the sieve of spiralling memories,
caught between pristine bliss, and reeking slime.

Cast ashore,
flung aside for no discernible crime,

my human heart thuds with elusive hope,
though battered, bruised, and covered in grime,

I stagger ashore, 


embracing each moment of detached, oblivious time.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Heroic Couplets |

Robert Louis Curl

I quickly joined the Navy on June the 4th, 1943,  
As soon as I graduated at 17, life was definitely to be;
I received boot training in the state of Maryland, 
At Bainbridge, became a navigator noble and grand. 

I was sent to Amphibious Training wet, phew wee,  
At Little Creek in Virginia, where I got my crew,
Of different ranks including machinists as gunners,
The craft was 56-foot, our rations made us stunners.

But I was separated from my crew, went to Plymouth, 
In England, placed on a Liberty ship used to house, 
Replacement cargo for artillery that got destroyed, 
Which was so much longer than the crafts deployed. 

In Fahnouth England, I memorised Normandy maps, 
Prepared and used a Reflectoscope to turn on the taps;
We were scared of poison gas when we hit Omaha, 
I was quarantined on June 1st of ’44, needed mama.

We saved many from the crafts using cargo nets sublime, 
But they were difficult to climb in the rough seas, crime,  
A craft almost mounted the ship ‘cos of a high wave, 
And always we had to be steely and very, very brave.

The bombs from the Nazi’s were the size of footballs, 
And we painstakingly recovered many bodies, stalls, 
From the water which had just beaten them cruelly, 
And that first D-Day morning we were losing brutally. 

The Germans hedgehogs, or bombs for the landing crafts, 
Fired on us from a pillbox, but in my case American staff, 
Took my attacking pillbox out, and I was just so grateful, 
‘Cos it was causing me havoc ‘cos I almost felt too awful. 

Luckily that night two German planes simply just avoided us, 
After a few days we did hydrographic 3D printing work, suss,
For which I was commended, I contributed to today’s 3D printing
Then I lead the invasion of southern France, which was amazing. 

The Panama Canal saw me on a rocket ship headed for Japan, 
But the A-Bomb ended the war, and we went state-side to tan, 
My Honourable Discharge was in March of ’46, and I was quick,
To get back to my peacetime activities, but never forgot the sick.

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |

Bloody Omaha

Midnight June the 5th 1944 me and my buddies departed Weymouth and put out to 

To smash through Hitlers eastern wall to liberate Europe and make her once again 

We knew some,most of us wouldnt be coming back

As we neared Omaha beach at 4am we started to take German flak

From high above us we could hear the bombers delevering there deadly cargo to 
the enemy on the ground

The french coast was pummeled as night turned to day followed by the cargos 
deathly sound

It looked like the 4th of July and i wondered if id ever see another one

Then our landing craft doors opened my buddies in front didnt stand a chance 
bullets tore them to shreds and they were gone

All around me carnage reigned we were in a killing zone the bluffs seemed so 
distant they shouldnt be that far away

I looked around me at my buddies dying or dead before me some motionless where 
they lay

Something had gone terribly wrong we wernt even on the right stretch of beach

I needed to get to cover quickly i saw a sand dune took my chance and managed 
just to reach

The day was breaking now i gazed around me as the dawn broke through the night

I felt sickened and appauled at what i saw ive never forgot that sight

And still the carnage continued as one by one the Rangers fell

Ive never been a religous man but that morning i saw hell

The Germans shouldnt be this strong here thats what we were told

But we had to get off this beach i didnt want to be one of the fallen lying 

There were 36 men left in my unit we now numbered just 5

The other guys around me were dead or dying i was fighting to survive

But i was one of the lucky ones i managed to get through that day

Looking back to that time and such a terrible price my buddies had to pay

5 beaches were taken that day Gold Juno Sword Omaha and Utah

I was a young sargeant in the 2nd Rangers my beach was Bloody Omaha

And in my minds eye i still see the beach that day and the sea running red

I still see the tide washing up my buddies the dying and the dead

Historians looking back now see where the mistakes were made

Omaha bloody Omaha its referred to is where such a high price was paid

Nearly 5,000 young Americans and Canadians on that beach on that day

We must never forget them they and what they did and the price they had to pay

Omaha was the bloodiest but lest we not forget the other four

For they shall allways be in my prayers for today and for ever more

Copyright © stan bridge | Year Posted 2011

Details | Couplet |

Head For The Sand

Copyright © 2015

In the Banana Republic, you
can meet senorita in the sand.
A day from work, pesos in
hand, head for the sand. No
stress, the women are the best

Pretty senoritas ready to rub
a pirate's chest, chest full
of pirate's loot, and no one
gives a hoot.

Away from slaving everyday, the
discos and beaches are the way,
away from motorists trying to
run over everyone's feet

White men still come to Paradise,
paradise island and sunrise. He
says, island people sure are nice.

No wars, just lots of girls in bars,
and even ugly tourists can be stars.
Many island men sure seem happy with
them old ladies in the sand. They always
come back, leaving ole Sir Jack.

No stress, no mess, the Caribbean Islands
are the best.

by: LPruitt
**(on Facebook w/photo/theme: North Coast Poetry Society)

Copyright © Les Pruitt | Year Posted 2015

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,

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 | I do not know? |

The Spitfire

>I must be honest, being new to this poetry, I do not understand half the terms describing types of poems, hence you will see a lot of, ' I do not know,'   At the moment on my local BBC radio station they are talking about  The Spitfire.  Of course I've written a poem about the Spitfire.  This is between page 56  and 58  of  my first poetry book.
I think I've mentioned elsewhere I have a beach hut at Felixstowe.  You may not know where it is, but I'm sure the vandals do, as they have visited it twice, so you could always ask them.  Occasionally, when there lounging in a deck chair, one hears the sound of an aeroplane passing overhead.  I know it's a Spitfire.  I won't embarrass the lady pilot here, because she might dive bomb me lol. 

The Spitfire.

Them Spitfires with those brave men in, flew up oh so high.
Into the bright blue, clear, good old English sky.
Not knowing if it was today they'd  die.
Butt still in their Spitfires, they did fly.

The Spitfire was the plane that's true.
Jerry wanted, that kind too.
That they had none so we ruled the air.
Of the Battle of Britain, high up there.

I guess we'll remember, that final day.
But many men, before did die.
Flying so high and fighting too.
As that's what men, in Spitfires did do.

Some men, returned, to fight again.
Some landed, their battered plane.
Other men, injured, had to refrain.
From fighting, until they were fit again.

Bombers also did their part.
Ripping the enemy apart.
Took a pasting, some did do.
Bailing out as had to do.

So all airmen, where'er you are.
On land, or high up, neath the stars.
Thanks for all that you did do.
I cannot say more of you.

Brave allies, you all as well.
Hope your in heaven, not in hell.
And when your life, is finally spent. 
From fighting, or old age, you went.

All united, now might be.
Your names will live in history.
Never will we, you forget.
What you gave in the war, and yet.
Would give so much, I do not lie.
For you to live, and not have died.

Alas a bullet from a gun.
If your number is it upon.
I guess you know what it did do.
And hope your in paradise too.

Hark the sound a Spitfire flies.
Surely now no one will die.
As they did seventy-five years ago.
As they took off, how could they know?

That final day, as they did fly.
The Germans advance, did surely die.
All because, our brave young men.
Took them Spitfires, up again.<

Where'er you are, what air you do.
No one will, forget you.
As you in Spitfires, flew so high.
Our memories also, will not die.

Copyright © STANLEY Harris | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ballad |

Selkirk Alone 1707

Marooned the word
Waves hiss at my dilemma
And palms caress
The trade winds brought me here.
Sad flotsam serves
The stuff of my crude cabin
And jungle goop
A remedy 
For skitters quite severe.
The hardy gulls
Companions each blue morning
Who show me shells
For boiled meat, tasty too.
And wood stocked high
For bonfires
In the darkness
Bringing hope
And maybe glad rescue.
I lift myself
With songs once learned
In childhood
And written thoughts penned
On a sun-dried leaf.
But none to hear
Or offer back
Rich comment
To bring this castaway relief.
Dear God I know your care
And closeness ever
And see your Hand
In gripping starlit sky.
But strength is sparse
And months expired
Beyond all number
Yet still tomorrow I will try.


Copyright © Doug Blair | Year Posted 2017