Early morning
and I walk the shoreline
of my waking mind,
picking over what has been
washed up, the tidal spoils
dislodged from a dream,
scattered memories,
the flotsam of time.
These are what I lay
upon a page,
the beach strewn litter
from a throw away age
and weathered sea shells
that speak, murmur into
a listening ear the incantations
of the deep.
Categories:
beachcombing, beach, poetry,
Form: Free verse
I grow sands with you;
More than time slip by...a kiss—
From my world's ocean.
Categories:
beachcombing, beach, cry, deep, emotions,
Form: Haiku
Waiting, watching, listening for the storm to reach the shore.
Swirling the waters cauldron; lifting the ocean floor.
Relocating and destroying - beachcombing aft the wind has blown.
Walk the sands of turmoil - collecting cuttlebone.
Categories:
beachcombing, nature,
Form: Rhyme
Ah, wish I were gone beachcombing...
... among the fewest fondest words
conjuring up simple, sparkling joys
in a seemingly pointless pastime
when the whole world of waged work
wants me to do only that which is
cost-effective, truly ensuring ROI:
never mind divine artistry on shells
and the tide that must have kissed
the shores of distant continents;
just trudge to the jobsite enduring
bone-snapping cold, blistering heat,
...and the indignity of "No ID, No Entry!"
Ah, wish I were gone beachcombing.
Categories:
beachcombing, nature, seasons, work,
Form: Free verse