Mother Ocean please
Send me waves of such beauty
I need Therapy
Dedicated to my Dad on Father's Day 2013
The man who introduced me to the ocean and educated me about it and gave me reason to love appreciate and respect it.
Copyright © Andrea Rose | Year Posted 2013
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
Slipping sunset smoldering as descending smoke
while I steer our memory ship upon freckled sea.
Summer waves burst upon the bosom bow as liquid
bouquets releasing pale petals that kiss my cheek.
I clasp onto crashing ocean, reaching for childhood
and feel my mother's hair in the midst of silky seaweed.
My fingers waltz along the wooden hull which
enlightens me how buildings and boats live beyond us.
Crescent moon carves through night's curtains, and
fish weave through waves like endless thoughts.
Standing at stern, I smile at golden regeneration,
for this veil of light connects generations of life.
Ghosts of my mother's mermaid ballet brim alive from
bubbling clouds, searing seagulls and wild winds.
She twirls and swirls once again upon lapis sky and sea,
receiving cheers from captains and clapping clouds.
Gracing back onto land, slippery sand slides around me
as nature's crusty shawl and my mother's embrace.
Alone, I stand silent with my mind as a haunted storm
and my heart, now sunset, slips into the sea of my soul.
July 19th 2008
Sponsor: A Poet Destroyer
Contest: 101 in a ROW contest--4
Copyright © Chantelle Anne Cooke | 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
the in/out of waves
on stony beach in sussex
and seagulls crying ;
as a child does for the breast
of mother, towelling dry
Copyright © Julia Ward | Year Posted 2015
Sifting warm sand
through my fingers
lustrous fine grains
glitter my palm.
by the soft powdery touch,
I sit for a while
under the rocks
My bare feet
swirl patterns in the sand
as I idly watch
a beach life unfold
Bustling mother’s set up home
on plaid blankets
colourful beach bags
thick with togs and towels
strewn all around
a picnic stored carefully
under a shady umbrella,
they gather the children
skip giddy with glee
on lithe limbs
with index finger
of do's and don'ts.
My gaze drifts to
little pink sisters,
their chubby faces
alive with imagination
as nimble bodies
straddle the sand,
all wrapped up
in mounds of castles
studding their dreams
with pearly shells
and whispering tales
of pretty princesses.
At the water’s edge
long legs prancing
tip toeing warmth
into the chilly sea
up to their waists in
dipping and diving,
an ocean of laughter
as young lads play
splashing and yelling
a ball in the air
Picking up my sandals,
I walk up the beach
under the bridge
past crimson valerian
It’s balmy perfume
scenting a delicious day
Copyright © Eiken Laan | Year Posted 2011
The shore is what I have seen since I was little
when I grew up it was so far in the distance to see.
Walking the distance when I was a child I was so brittle
to notice the path was so warn out to me.
The little strides I took was not so bad
it was just how it ended up when my mother had my hand.
She pointed out to the horizon to make me glad
that I could look out and see the sand.
The look in her eyes was so beautiful
it was one of those moments that can be captured.
My mother showed me the path and told me to be careful
to not worry about the pain she pictured.
The final walk up to get home was a bummer
because it was the sign that ended my time their.
My time at the beach and the sea was the end of summer
that is when I said, I will be back I swear.
The path might be warn more and more out
even when time passes and when I get older.
My memories of my mother and I will last with out a doubt
with time I get smarter and much bolder.
Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013
The tide is coming.
Rheumy eyes lost on the horizon. Misting, over half memories.
Vera Lynn keeping us firmly in the past. Time in the present ever shorter.
Flask piping hot, burnt lips. Lunch heartily eaten.
Talk of family long-gone and family non-existent. Half finished sentences.
Singing until hoarse, oblivious of time and place.
Home before dusk or enter a world of anxiety and confusion.
The tide is gone.
I shall miss Sundays.
Copyright © lola barron | Year Posted 2012
Each day I sit upon the same wind swept boulder
watching the sun as it sinks into the Western sky.
My sister, on the larger because she's a little older.
We listen to sea gulls, so we don't hear Mother cry.
Father left years ago to make a living from the sea
And here we are each afternoon, in the rain or sun.
But Father's canvas sails on the horizon we never see.
Watching waves crash on the shore is no longer fun.
Our mother insists we wear our fanciest dresses and hats
But my chapeau never seems to want to stay on my head.
My sister, prim and proper, and I have many heated spats,
But I stubbornly tell her, "I'd rather use my parasol of red."
An hour passes, maybe two or more as we wait on the shore.
When a ship looms near, Mother hopefully waves her hand
But when it sails beyond her vision, I can stand it no more.
I walk to her, angrily kicking at smelly sea shells and sand.
She reaches out to gently squeeze my tiny finger tips.
It's a sad ritual we perform, a quiet moment we share.
Mother looks down at me with a sad smile on her lips.
I give her my red parasol to hide her tears of despair.
Copyright © Marti Sutherland | 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
Out on the beach with an amazing guy. The sun's so pretty, the sun's so bright. We're walking and talking about all our good times, against the world, hand in hand. Smiling and walking on the beautiful LA sand. We sit on a bolder and watch the sun set. It's an amazing day, one I will never forget. You slip your arm around me as we as we look at the beautiful sea. "I love you," I say as we feel the cool evening breeze. "I love you too," you say and pull out a small black box. I look at you, smile, and my heart stops. You open the box to reveal a beautiful ring. "Will you marry me?" you ask as my eyes fill with tears and my heart starts to sing. My smile gets wider as I say "yes". You pull me close to your chest. I gently kiss you as a tear rolls down my cheek. You brush it away and smile at me. "I love you," I say one more time. "I love you to baby," you say as you smile, "now your deffinitly all mine."
Today's the day, the day that starts the rest of our life. The day you become my husband, the day I become your wife. The last time I saw you was last night. But I woke up to a beautiful sight. A bouque of beautiful red roses lie on your pillow with a note on top. "I love you," it says, "and I can't wait to see you." I smile and whisper "I love you too." I take a shower and walk down to the beach to see how much is done. I step onto the hot sand and I feel the hot sun. It's almost done so I start to head home. I need to here your voice so I call your phone. "Hey babe," you say, "is everything okay?" I tell you everythings fine, I just need to hear you. I tell you I love you. You tell me you love me too. You say you have to go but you'll see me soon. "Okay, I love you," I say and look at the clock, it's almost noon. "I love you too," you say and the line goes dead. I look in the mirror and put my hands on my head. I smile and start to get ready for tonight. The first night of m new life.
I take a look in the mirror one last time. Just to make sure my beautiful dress is fine. I walk down to the beach and wait by the gate. I fix my veil and look at my friend. "You look amazing," she says and puts some flowers in my hand. "Thanks," I say and smile. I can't wait to walk down the aisle.
Copyright © Kaylee Landis | Year Posted 2012
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
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