Prose Poetry Ocean Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Ocean

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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?”

Copyright © Annalise Brigham...a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2010

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

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

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. 

Therese Bacha
June 27 2013

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 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.

Copyright © Jack Ross jr. | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |

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.  

Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013

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A gray dawn, a dark twilight.
 Daybreak, dawn, dusk.
A flash of lightening across the horizon.
 Windswept trees, in all bent shape, 
Such is the result due to harsh winds 
 That travel for miles and miles.
And we have no knowledge from where it came from
 Or where it is going.
But that its travel continues across the daunting mass
 Called; Ocean.
Oh how it churns the water.
 I can feel the mist and spray cover my body
And tingle my hands.
 Standing in the shallow the air blows about me
With sandy hair raging like fire, slapping my face.
 A feeling of unknown,
Watching angry waves become violent.
 And a shiver of coldness, trembles my body.
A sense of peace,
 I have one thought;
Where did it come from?                                       

Copyright © Elizabeth Brown | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

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

Copyright © Christopher Thor Britt | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |


The moon is an envious thing
In a gulf of darkness
It circles the earth and ocean like a shark
It sees the beauty of the two
Jealous of the green and the blue
It shows its lighter side to them
Smiles to their face, but hides a darker half
It wants the ocean
Admires her
Desires her
Every night
It can see itself in her 
A thirsty thing
He would pull her off 
And make her his in the vastness of space
She feels the attraction too
A force tugging at her molecules
An inclination that pulls her 
But while being drawn she stops and says,
"I would come to you.
I would.
But I already belong to another."

Copyright © Alex Roberson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

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.

Copyright © Sue k Green | Year Posted 2014

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Sailing off for The New World

Reaching for the land like we're all about to drown,
Slowly the horizon slightly turns purple while the sun's moving down.

Looking into emptiness... it land or the people that we truly miss.

Then through the mist,
blinded by hope, arose in the distance a granted a wish.

Land HO!
Surely the shore, cant be missed,
tell the men full steam ahead,
anchor ship.

It seemed as if it were a century at sea,
A New World found, on the ground they weren't meant to be.

Who would have ever thought a mistake could be great.
Soon to be land of the free, home of the brave.

Copyright © Gerald Moise | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Sail On My Friend

Just a few will act divine
Not everyone is nice and kind
But everyone will get hurt sometimes

Occasionally, someone will cross the line
Some will even become insensitive at times
But we all have mountains that we must climb

So often life is like being whipped by a raging storm
Or like being lashed by the winds
Or like an angry and troubled sea

Winds, like unbearable people
Storms, like unrelenting circumstances
Troubled seas, ripping away the peace and control
All are fierce and forceful, hurting badly sometimes

You may have heard the story of the old seaman.
He said, “In fierce storms there’s only one thing to do;
There’s only one way.  You must set the ship in a certain
Position and leave it there”.

Though everything around me be altered and troublesome,
May I set my position, stay the course for the duration, and sail on

Some hurts are quick, visible, and anyone can know
Others are subtle, sharp and pointed, so deep and will not easily show
Some hurts are hidden, and tears are held back that otherwise would flow
Others are not so hidden, but let us know when they are feeling really low

Not all hurts and ills are cause for alarm, because some people learn to cope
Some of us will golf, or run marathons,  and others will float away on a big sail boat
They will easily adjust and move on, and never be found hanging at the end of a rope
This is my plea, my prayer, for you dear one:  Sail on!  Sail on my friend, and never lose hope

04062011 PS Contest, 101 In A Row-14, Poet Destroyer

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2015

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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.. 

Copyright © Kim Robin Edwards | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |



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.

Copyright © Josh Roelink | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |


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!

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

The Tenth Wave


The rain drops prick the skin of the sea
Tumble with the urchins in the water,
The black water, so heavy, tired--
Watching it tic tac toe in millions of tiny rings
Tic tac toe, three by three by three 
Up until infinity--
As scores of seagulls watched from buoys 

Red sky at night, sailor's delight
Isn't that how it goes?
All hands on deck! All hands! 

Until then came, out of the night sky, a wind
With the sound and fury of a thousand black horses 
Pummeling down on the water, the great, fearsome ocean
And stirring it up like a bowl of soup

 All hands!  

The great boats all groaned in protest, 
Their wet, wooden bellies full 
Reeds choking shores uprooted and flew at the storm

The whole world seemed to be feeding the storm, 
Which would not be satiated, but howled for more
Chunks of earth, wood, sail, even human souls
Would not appease such an appetite

And then, in the pulse of three hours, a brief
Quiet... aching silence 
where the sun deceived them
By shirking off the clouds for a moment
Hear the call of the birds... 

Red sky at morning, at morning, at mourning

It was then that the waves began-- 

Undulating at first, feel the water breathe, 
Soon rising, rising, black towers 
Into walls of water no one could scale,
Ripping across the top in violent zig-zags 
White madness, the open mouth-

-and they came, they came in rows
As tall as nightmares, even hungrier than the wind 
And they ate up everything they touched, 
Swallowing lives, swallowing that which made them 
Pulling our dwarfed armies into the deep, deep 
Dark, black salt water 
Until then, after the herald, and the birds didn't sing anymore 
A tenth wave, which rose colossal over the rest, 
Moving like a lost city,
Over the darkness, a shadow covering this world
Silenced what was left to be silenced 

 Little sailors  
 Little  sailors  
 All sailor's songs end  
 And On the Land 
Your little wives  
Will catch your songs on the wind 
 Will pick up those songs on the winds

Copyright © Jeremy Martin | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

A Child's View

We went to the beach, but it was different. 
The sand was black and sticky. The smell made my eyes water and my throat burn.
I wanted to go home, but then I saw him. 
At first I thought he was just a rock - a big, black, sticky, smelly rock. 
But then he shivered.
I showed my mom. She gasped. "That's a seal" she told me.
I think she was crying.
We fetched my red wagon. The seal was very heavy. 
Mom said be careful, he might bite!
But the seal was too tired and sick to lift his head.
We took him to the Sea Life center. We made a strange parade; 
A mother, a kid and a filthy red wagon.
The lady inside looked tired. Her sweater was crumpled and her blouse was buttoned wrong. 
She used warm water and dish soap to clean him. She said he was covered in oil.
 It would take a very long time to make him better.
Every day I came back to visit. At first he was too sick to notice me. 
When he breathed it made a barking, rasping sound. 
The lady said the oil had burned his lungs. 
Slowly he began to look more like a seal and less like a dirty rock. 
One day I came and he was swimming in a small pool. 
I asked the lady if we would take him back to the sea now - I had my little red wagon. 
She looked sad and shook her head. 
He could never go home. 

Copyright © Rose Whelan | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

The One Who Followed The Storm

A postlude to The Tenth Wave 

And I felt helpless, as I could do nothing
But watch them sway in the wind out to sea 

Hush, hush!
There, yes, right there, if you squint you can see it
Among the debris, there, yes, right there! can't you see? 
There was one, yes, indeed, listen to me, says I, 
Right there! 

Over there... 

...He seemed to come right from nowhere
When it was thought that all  breaths had been taken,
Came a salty  puff of water, and then 
Like a little ship, a living ship, with a bow and a stern,
And most importantly, a pointy little mast at the tip
The small twisty horn which took a spot of the moon 
One narwhal, young and carelessly breaching
Like any child would, split for a moment from his tribe
To watch the ghostly stillness of the ocean with soft wet eyes
Before he bobbed back with mothers, fathers, sons, daughters
To discover new lands, new lives and loves..

Copyright © Jeremy Martin | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Heart of an Ocean

My love in you  
like the ocean,  
I want to dive into your soul,  
never resurface.  
I’d drown if I could.  
Breathe in, never let go,  
explore the very depths,  
into the heart of the ocean,  
to see what lays at the bottom,  
Unrequited, until I touch it.  
the further I venture into  
a territory unknown,  
the more I discover,  
the more I love,  
the more I am enthralled and determined  
to see what mysteries await me.  
The more I penetrate into  
the gratifying abyss  
of your heart that seems  
to have limits boundless, 
the more I want,  
the more I seek to reveal.

Copyright © Alecia Henderson | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |


"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

Copyright © Nola Perez | Year Posted 2009

Details | Prose Poetry |

The sailor

Ever since the creation of boats
Man was inspired by the Arc of Noah

The sailor started his journey at sea
To explore the ocean in various embarkations

Requiring lot of  endurance and patience
A  very perilous  and tedious job

Exposing himself to the perils of the waters
The tar risks his life to feed his family

Most of the time being at sea
His dear ones miss him frequently

Travelling from one country to another
He lands in different ports of the world

Exposing himself to storms and tsunamis
He has to fight against  the corsairs

Father, father when will you be back?
Asks the little boy with an innocent voice

Can he answer the kid?
As many uncertainties await him at sea

Sailor, sailor your life is at stake
Every now and then you need a  break

Although your mind tosses over the ocean
Yet your heart is always  at home

As there is no guarantee about  your future
What will happen to your wife and children?

Copyright © Azad Boodhun | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |


The individual bits are nothing but added together, and the sand stretches on. It feels like fire and it feels warm perfect for your bare legs and not yet enough for your covered arms. The blue bag is tossed aside the ribbon that used to mean something floats, trying to catch your attention; begging you not to give up. But your stare is calm and determined - towards the empty sea surrounded by faded sand trampled by invisible beings -as you get ready to throw the gifted disk, now meaningless, into the empty sea where it will become heavy in another medium surrounded by faded sand trampled by none but you
Bre Varzena - Nov 23, inspired by Eve Roper's oil painting 5

Copyright © Bre Varzena | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |


i fell deep
you knock me off my feet
for you am so weak
my minds  is in motion
for you tooi 

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |


Two souls in a violent wind.
Two unique fleshes bound in one.
He smiled at her in a way that drove her wild.
She touched him in a way that exhilerated him.
The wind took and ripped at them.
It blew all their life into disorder.
If one could hold the key,
maybe they could break free.
They searched and ran and fought.
They wouldn't stop
till they found which was sought.
The miles covered were empty and rough.
They had lots of regrets and not much to bluff.
They cried, they pried.
They fell back and stepped aside.
Then the answer came clear.
It was pushed way back in a corrider left of fear.
There the time seemed to encompass the great transformation.
Lover's ignited in a swift and steady motion.
It was like all the stars lighting up the brilliant ocean.
Fiercer than a tornado,
stronger than a hurricane.
There souls entwined beneath the true hearts vein.

Copyright © Desiree Wytcherley | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

zil zil zil I am so cool

Sat under tree,
Near the shore;
Heard whispering sounds, 
From the lake;
Kil-kil-kil I am from hill,
My mom is cloud,
Dad is mount;
Tip-tip-tip drops from clouds;
Conceived by mount,
Like a seahorse male;
Then makes, 
Tiny spaces for my flow;
Grow wider and wider,
Finally, reaching land,
I shape into massive lake;
Zil-Zil-Zil  I am so cool,
Flow like dancer, 
Sound like lyrical song;
I really read what in your mind,
You sit here, 
But flow in different world;
Seems, you're lonely sad;
Feel my beauty,
Cogitate through your ears and eyes;
Sound of mine heals your pain,
My flow as dance,
Cheers your mind;
Oh! My love, touch me once,
Zi-zil-zu! I am so cool;
Comfort your lone,
Give you feel, 
Someone there sharing, 
Your emotive pain;
I'm selfless liquid meant for you,
Meant to quench your thirst,
Enemies, friends together drink,
Remedy for all your needs;
I live as moisture, 
And breathing breeze;
I as gas h2 and O,
Flow in chill sky,
Yet on earth flow as liquid lake;
Water, Aqua, eau, natlie, 
What you wish you can call;
Seek protection from forest, plants,
Save them to save moisture land;
If I dry up or die,
Life on earth too will die;

© sadashivan nair 

Copyright © sadashivan nair | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |


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

Copyright © tifarrah miller | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |

At The Ocean

The sun, bright on ocean, beams

With effervescent shimmer.

Gentle wavelets drift to shore 

To greet the sand's soft smile.

A gaze through tree's green rustling leaves

From hills above the scene

Does lift a life like seagulls' wings

On hues of tan and blue!

Copyright © Sandra J. Spring | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |


Let me tell you about the breakers 
Crashing waves who live 
At shoreline guarding 
The ocean majesty

Roaring lions test and toss you 
In rolling undertow 
Leaving you crushed & confused
Begging to back out

But if you dive deep below 
And bow to the breakers
Knighted by the thrust
That brushes over your body

Then you will know
The salty taste of peace
Floating just beyond 
The fast moving roar 

From wave to swell; Outer to Inner 
This buoyancy is worth the fight

Copyright © christine stevens | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |


In the morning
The coast is greeted by the ocean
Its oldest friend centuries over
It waves to her
And approaches
Gently caressing her body with its watery hands as it makes contact
Massaging sand
Handles the rough parts gently
The rocks
Until they smooth down
Eventually, over time it washes away all the blemishes
All the traces of others
From the footprints from those who walked on her
The trash from others who didn’t know how to leave beautiful things as they are
And the sand castles from those who felt they could come and establish their rule 
It takes everything 
Leaving her almost as beautiful and unaltered as she was before 
Shells are its gift
Occasionally a pearl. Just because.
Everyday it drops off another bounty and she is adorned with it
Along the spots where it touches her palm trees spring up
A green blush
A sign of delight
Of how she holds both love 
And life

Copyright © Alex Roberson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

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.

Copyright © Bridgette Lace | Year Posted 2008

Details | Prose Poetry |


theyer like remote
the flow
jump  up and down
in the water sounds
theyer big and round
always in motion
with long tails
you fime them as they swim
over the 

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