Writing Beach Poems

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

The poem(s) are below...

Details | Verse |
Arm over arm, I glide my body through 
warm, glistening water near the beach. No
harm can come here; Sun’s my lucky
charm; my skin and hair are soaking in its glow!

When I go back to my towel, I sink
ten toes into the sand, warm summer bliss.
Then I grab my bag, and I pull out
pen and paper, best tools for a day just like this!

For Rick Parise's Lento Poetry Contest

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011

Details | I do not know? |

My Wishes are Simple

My wishes are simple,
my desires few,

to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.

My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,

to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.

My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,

my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,

healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Couplet |
Your eyes-The open sea
Each gaze, a wave, engulfing me

Caught in the current-Strong and fast
Drowning in moments-Deep and vast

I grow less certain, everyday
If I will be able, to find my way

Back to shore

Copyright © Alexandra Steele | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ekphrasis |
Two Beach Strolling Sisters Discussing Their Savior

This was his virtue; that with head and heart  
He saw life sanely, from all mist apart, 
and spoke with such assurance as he showed  
our way as straight as an old Roman road.  

This was His beauty, that with bird and flower  
He loved the strange revealings of each hour,
from wandering stars, from waywardness of earth;  
Fountains of poesy quivered at his birth. 

This was his grandeur, that in all he saw 
or dreamed, he bowed before eternal law. 
Knowing his soul the vassal of the King  
whose realm is established by our laboring!

Robert J. Lindley, 1-10-2016

Painting number seven
Poem number seven, Ekphrasis (rhyme)
Inspired by- the painting
( Twilight Confidences,  by Cecilia Beaux 1888)
and Debbie Guzzi's 10 for 10 challenge
Ekphrastic: Writing on Art and Art on Writing  [this site ACCEPTS reprints] http://www.ekphrastic.net/submissions.html

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
The Ocean breeze soothes me. The sound of waves relaxes me. Soft sand between my toes, collecting unique driftwood to make crafts, beachcombing is my "quiet place". You can't live on an island and not love the water. I can sit and watch boats sailing by or watch eagles soaring in the sky. The beach is where I go to sooth my soul and find my inspiration. ~~~~ The Beach at Eby Rd.~~~~ (my quiet place) At the end of the road, I park, leaving my shoes behind. I walk along the sandy beach. All troubles leave my mind. I breathe in the sweet ocean air, raise my face to the sun. Inspiration flows through my veins. Another poem's begun.
for Sara Kendrick's contest "My Quiet Place"

Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sonnet |

I'll go out and sit where I could think
where I feel my world becomes alive
by doing nothing but sigh
on that sad Fourth of July 
this old park holds the cards
where memories eat away at my heart
where I watched the flesed field night
dot petal beauty in the sky
Oh, how that made me cry,
because that is when 
we had to say are goodbyes
because someone took your life.

Poetic Judy Emery

Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2017

Details | Rhyme |
Down in Tallahassee
An American lassie stayed
Her poetry is a joy to read
It's the way her writes displayed

Writes on subjects cool
They en captured all our thoughts
Of history and life
Our imaginations caught

To Ormond Beach she travels
Near the ocean she will be
To stay in the family house
Fishing so frequently

And once she's settled in
To the Soup she will return
To grace us with her writes
For more i want to learn

Be safe in your journey
To make yourself at home
For we will all be here
I doubt we'll ever roam



Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse |
I don't know the last time that I've retwisted my locs. 
They are joining at the root now...Nappiest my hair has ever been. Happiest in life I've ever been. That's choice. I choose to live a happy life always, light and stressless. Stress is a serious demon to slay. The crave for happy is heavy amongst us human, How do you measure your scale of happy? The amount of things you have, money, love. We all want different things but want the same feelings.

Copyright © Amanda Mawu | Year Posted 2017

Details | Verse |
                                      Frankly Speaking

There is a couple on the beach, they have a small room, been on the beach for years, suffered through the worst of it. They have been through every phase. The Hippie, the war protesters -the poet-the artist - the "free love fest"- the heavy duty weed scene, "hell no we won't fn go" from there; To the board room with a haircut and a suit.  Back to the beach, to retire; She still wore pigtails and flowered skirts.  Oh, my God, we’ve moved slower through time she thought, and those times now seemed so far away. Contrasting times were here with cocaine, ecstasy, and mushrooms.!
S.S. check gone too soon, these days were not like the old days but vegetarians never die-  So we dance at night after soaking up the sun; Growing wrinkled and red and filled with vitamin D... He displays his art- we played on our boombox: Bob Marley and Elton John which drew a crowd. We became as one with South Beach, as we practiced our Yoga, or played our musical instruments and chanted “Nam-myoho-renge-kyo”.
My black friend was so beautiful in her bikini and golden headwrap...She roller-skated past and waved. She was a poet like me... She said she'd be back for the session. A lot of her poems were about David the owner of the Franklin Hotel where we lived. I and other poets wrote poems about the system that tried to impose hate upon us free thinking peoples. People would give us money for sharing our poems, and purchase his art work. We’d buy few mangos and veggie burgers for our dinner, next, we’d wait for the sun to go down.
At night, my Black friend. Oladeji would collect the last 5 bucks, for the Gourmet Franks that she sold to the hungry drunks left over on the beach, who had been evacuated from the clubs for maxed out credit cards. Sad looks and broke pockets were not welcomed.
Which made her hot, fat kosher gourmet grilled franks, smothered in her special onion sauce, even more of a redeeming quality; As her poetic sign read… {FRANKLY SPEAKING…Home of the gourmet franks} ... Oladeji, would chant out her newly learned Spanish words nightly, to the dregs of dejected party goers, she’d shout “Pero caliente, saboya salsa” Rico delicioso”! then again in English; Hot-dogs with onion sauce very delicious.

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
I have a dream
I always had it
But for many years 
Did not know it
I live by a windy beach
With white sand
A modest house
Not fancy
Probably rented
I don’t work
Just write
There is a girl 
She is pretty
With brown eyes
And dark hair
Younger than me
She is a little insecure
At times neurotic
But she is loyal
We have a big cat
Who is free to come and go
As he pleases
He sits on the windowsill 
In the sun
And watches the sea
I drink less
And don’t have to see many people
We are happy
I lived this dream
In reality
More than once
But it did not last long
As I did not have the girl

Copyright © Robert Black | Year Posted 2017

Details | Lyric |
Blue is the ring around my boyfriends eyes 
when the light hits them.
Blue is the weird color I never used in kindergarten,
because I thought it was for boys.
Blue is the smell of salt and the sound of seagulls
on a Tuesday afternoon in Huntington.
Blue is the shade of my wristband for Horror Nights
the first time I went with my love.
Blue is the color of my ripped denim jeans I wore
to pick up my sister from the airport.
Blue is what I painted my toes the 
morning of my mom’s wedding.
Blue is the feeling my family felt,
when we lost a loved one.
Blue is the stain on my carpet 
when I was painting my brothers skateboard.
Blue is the electricity and the anticipation,
before a concert starts.
Blue is the color my sister said she hated,
but always used when doing her eyeshadow.
Blue is the color that holds memories
and reminders of the little big things in life.

Copyright © Ivy Moorjani | Year Posted 2018