He's used to war, he fights real hard,
He's a soldier, he's battle scarred.
The enemy is weak, there is nothing to fear,
His compassion is gone, he has no tears.
He was taught well, was taught how to kill,
He's done it so much, it's lost it's thrill.
He no longer feels bad, when the enemy dies,
Tears don't come any more to his tired eyes.
In the beginning it was against his will,
But he soon broke down, and got used to kill.
Never thinking that his foe, was also just a man,
Like him with a family, doing the best he can.
He cannot have feelings, for anyone,
But then, for a moment, he thinks of his son.
He wants to go home, but it's not time yet,
So he goes back to a war, that he wants to forget.
Next day on the beach, on his tour of duty,
Lies a child's body, on the coast of Turkey.
He cannot believe what he sees with his own eyes,
A cute little boy, with no signs of life.
Lying face down, right there on the sand,
He picks him up, with his big strong hands.
And when he saw that there was no hope,
The soldier realized he could not cope.
He shuddered deeply...letting out a sigh,
And that's when...the soldier cried.
Now the whole world mourns that little boy,
Many children elsewhere, receive another toy.
Yes, people stand by, while these refugees die,
Some see the news and say, please...pass the pie.
John Derek Hamilton September 04,2015
Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2015
On the beach at dusk,
you say that someone has
thrown sand into the sky,
and please won't I sweep
it away so you can play
awhile longer with your
sand castles and little plastic boats.
You are confident
I can do anything,
and, Son, I've always tried.
But even I cannot
hold back the night.
Darkness closes in around us,
and for the first time
you look up at me,
and see that I'm not God!
For your best free verse poem
SKAT A/ Contest
Copyright © Darlene Gifford | Year Posted 2014
For as long as I can remember,
the months of May through September,
have always been the most enjoyable for me.
If you wonder, it is easy to see.
I love the boardwalk, the sun, and the beach.
Summer fun has always been in reach.
My friends and I in an old beat-up Ford
would drive down to the beach with a surfboard.
Pleasant past thoughts I would reminisce,
as long as dive-bombing seagulls continued to miss.
Those were among the memories of yesterday.
However, little has changed up to today.
The season at the beach is especially nice
with girls in bikinis and Italian water ice.
With cool breezes, the surf, and the sand,
no other scenery can be as grand.
I am older now, but it does not matter to me.
I still enjoy every bit of the scenery.
Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2011
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.
Copyright © JAY JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011
He comes, a seaside golem,
walking like Frankenstein’s monster
because sand has filled the crack in his
behind, and his feet are shod in at least
two pounds of beach.
He carries his pail and shovel.
“Mommy, I have fun!” he chirps.
And I love him in spite of his sandy behind,
in spite of the leaden feet
and the grit in his hair,
in spite of the fact that I know who’ll be
removing the sand.
I love him because he’s my golem,
and, well, he had fun.
Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015
You never forget your mothers hands,
Her gentle touch and the wedding band.
Her graceful touch and gentle play,
I still remember to this day.
If her hands were displayed with a million others,
I would still always know my mother's.
Copyright © Ricky Kendall | Year Posted 2016
Even as thunder boomed mighty overhead
and power lines on San Domingo Avenue outside
faltered and succumbed to the tempest
the Ortegas stood breathless in the family room, gaze transfixed
upon the television screen like so many deer in the headlights of a truck.
Finally a flash from without, and a snap
extinguished all light within the household. Ten seconds passed
without a sound. Then the father uttered something and
the family members scattered, each returning a moment later
bearing possessions of infinite value. Within a minute,
all had crammed into the station wagon, evacuation route ingrained
within their minds like a seed of hope.
All but one. Manuelito had been lost.
The mother howled and flied back into the house,
tears streaming down her face hard as the rain.
She reached the back porch, and to her eternal shock
found Manuelito standing alone on the beach like a mannequin
eyes locked upon the Cyclops-eye of the storm.
The mother cried out through anguished sobs
in vain, for the howling drone of the wind overpowered all
and when Manuelito turned around to face all that he loved
he did so with all the finality of a grown man
resolved upon his course of action.
The mother abruptly ceased her crying, and
her countenance briefly matched that of her son
as she, too, turned her gaze upon the jewel center of the storm
and was hypnotized by the awesome power of the divine.
At length she regained self-consciousness, and her eyes
darted back to that segment of the beach where her son had been standing
but his figure, like a stream of sand on the dunes of time,
had been replaced by nothingness,
the allure of the unknown and
Poseidon’s call of wild fury
too strong to resist.
Copyright © Jesse Jones | Year Posted 2007
Dear Mother’s new flamboyant beau
Suggested I should take a job,
Instead I hopped aboard our Lear
And winged my way to St. Tropez
To mope, quiescent, on hot sand,
Ambivalent for Mother, dear,
Until a moment, most arcane,
Renewed in me my joie-de-vivre:
My brooding eyes glimpsed up to spy,
‘Neath immolation of the sun,
The quintessence of bare beach breasts
And luscious curves of passing femme—
When, up, I bounced to meet her cheeks
And volunteer as tactile friend,
Some intercessor glanced my way
(With barrel chest and tight Speedo):
She kissed that man with bright amour
And life, again, turned bittersweet,
So off I sailed upon our yacht
To test the beach of sun-flecked Cannes.
November 7, 2016
Ten Word Challenge-2 Contest
John Hamilton, Sponsor
flamboyant, quiescent, ambivalent,
arcane, immolation, quintessence,
luscious, tactile, intercessor,
Copyright © David Bose | Year Posted 2016
Back in the summer of 69
I remember sitting on the dock of the bay
watching the boys of summer
build their love shacks love shacks
girls were playing twister and
sipping on pina coladas all day
feeling kind of groovy groovy
I couldn't get much higher higher
with these such good vibrations
from the summer in the city
way down in Key Largo
watching my beach baby beach baby
from the dock of the bay
Just Something I was working on
for a song Used all summer songs LOL
Hate to see the summer fun end
This Song Is Written By Me
And Now Is It Is Published Thru N.W. Alabamba
Copyright © Katherine Stella | Year Posted 2007
On the Beach Watching the Waves and....
I was sitting on the beach watching the waves
thinking of all the lives I've saved
my job is a thrill ; my job is hard
but I adore it, 'cause I'm a lifeguard
at times my mind drifts along with the waves
into a leisurely daydream some of the days
but then, I awaken to reality when I hear a scream
so I jump into the water to save yet another
Good thing I did ! 'Cause it was my mother!
Copyright © MC MC | Year Posted 2008
Walking down the graveled path
For a day at the little beach;
We picked up ripened persimmons
And purple muscadines along the way.
Butterflies fluttered around my wife.
Blazes of color lie under the trees.
Thousands of diamonds danced on the lake
Around several ducks with their bottoms up.
We took our shoes off on the little beach
And splashed along the shoreline.
We picked up rocks and skipped the stones
Between the passing boats and waves
That pushed and pulled us in shallow water.
Soon, I had to search for more stones
And persimmons, and I found a winged horse,
Pewter, on a black stringed necklace.
I tied it around my son's light brown neck.
He ran through the water bare back
And swam with his mom in shallow parts.
After our lunch of found-treats we walked,
And played and threw rocks in the water again.
My son drew my face in the wet sand.
We sat in the grass, soaked in the sun
And enjoyed the laughter and fun.
Copyright © Leon Stacey | Year Posted 2007