Beached Poems | Examples

S-O-S

Am I on an island launching bottles out to sea
beached at the waterline will someone rescue me
I'm drowning not waving as the boats go by
abandoned at high tide does anyone hear my cry
here am I sad to say writing messages in the sand
marooned a lonely castaway will somebody lend a hand
if I'm on an island will my ship come in
or has it run aground did it go down
with only thoughts of you to keep me alive
when will my ship ever arrive
here on an island sending signals from the shore
stranded high and dry will no one hear my call
found my freedom a big mistake I made
there's not another living soul around
loneliness the price I paid
and my tears are the only sound
if only my time I could rewind
but am I really on a deserted island
or is it only in my mind

Thank God, It's Friday

I'm on an island
marooned
a lonely castaway
beached at the waterline
launching bottles out to sea
abandoned
high and dry
my boat went down
it ran aground
but wait
what's that I see
can it be
a footprint in the sand
someone to lend a hand
my ship's come in
it's at the quay
no more sending signals
from the shore
the weekend's here
to rescue me

beached

tears and fears
fill moonless nights
their pooled regrets
not washed away

nostalgic longings
in hindsight of the shell 
of what might have
could have been

persistent clouds 
hover heavy dark
creeping smothering
extinguishing all light

hurtful lashings 
of idle tongues
whipping thrashing
leave their scars

sum total
the days the nights
unfurl their drama
wind up marooned
on the beach of life


AP: 2nd place 2024

Beached

At the watermark 
the line is drawn,
there, the sharp cool clearness
of a torquoise mirror marines me,
while I bend to pick up 
Chinamen's fingernails
with the blinding Sun on my back, 
I consider my life,
it has gone up in flames 
licking my capricious mind 
with contemptuous poetry, and
now this is what I live and breathe,
it has come to this, 
oh what a catastrophe, a writer 
on a beach, 
beached,
subtidally half-buried 
sheltered in sand, 

what creature lived inside 
that solen vaginoid exterior 
now cast off




Candide Diderot. ‘24

Beached

Drinking, looking for a life raft.
Juke box broken,
everyone here broken.
An ocean washed us up,
turbulent sea’s snatched us away.
Captain courage has abandoned ship,
he now sails icebergs
over sloshing margarita’s.
It’s a typical tropical hour here
where the shipwrecked gather.
We are a club, each of us
an island of splendid isolation.
Empty boats we are
drifting in and out of silence.
We leave only hollow footprints
on these windblown sands.

Beached

BEACHED
                           broken
                        abandoned

                     to the cruel sea
                  which unrelentingly
         scatters driftwood on the shore

" where beachcombers each day explore"

    Sponsor Joseph May.
    Picture number one.
    6 / 12 / 2022.
    Howmanysyllables.com

Owly Nesting On Beached Sand Castles- -

lo, damp abandon
yon snowy dead pan owl hoots
on dry sand castles

4/21/20
Written words James Edward Lee Sr  2020

Finding Beached

finding beached
his own message
in a bottle



AP: Honorable Mention 2023

Posted on April 21, 2019

Beached

Seals are washing up on shore
In places they've not been before
So people are on high alert 
To let them be; they might be hurt.

A friend of mine lives by a beach
Where this occurred; she did beseech
Authorities to intervene.
For hours, no such help was seen.

The seal was struggling on shore 
And his prognosis seemed quite poor.
When experts showed the next day morn
A tiny burst of hope was born.

Alas, although the pros did try,
It was too late; the seal did die.
A sad conclusion, this defeat;
Some creatures we're not meant to meet.

Beached Bare-Foot Prints

: adventure, beach, cry, deep, imagery, ocean, power,

BEACHED BARE FOOT PRINTS

My foot prints gladly set to the whetted sands as I stand and whiff the seashore
Missed since last year’s southern holiday visit and just as many times before
It is a good old ‘home week’ that the tides welcoming waves shout to me 
And I can see the silly sandpipers flit once more as I stand near-bye suddenly
They race the out-tide for banked treats left on the gleaming wet platter to feed
Quickly before the in tide's wallop mounts closer frothing at its mouth with greed
In and out the tide's wave displays its curling white coils with intoxicating joy
Soothing in spirit, yet have very beast-like tomes of 'command call-backs' that decoy 
Me into venturing nearer to just wet my sand covered toes and take the dare
It knows I want to become reacquainted with its wet swirling hot-tub fairway fare 
That will tickle and caress me and lick me deeper within and underneath its waters keep
Again I will trick the sea and surface surprised and happy to be ducked in its wet deep.

Beached

She beached at dawn to a clear sky
The sun rose to full height
Tickling her toes
She did not wake

She rolled on the shore in the afternoon tide
The waves lapping her body
Eyes closed
She did not wake

She stiffened at dusk
The tide ran out with her soul
Seaweed clung to her hair
She did not wake

She lay upturned to the stars
The moon caressing her hands
Sea shells weeping at her feet
She did not wake

She gave all to the icy depths
The sea reached out and held her
Rolling her back in carefully
So she did not wake.

Beached

Beached at the hotel
where T.V. creatures pay homage
to the energy trees, and
the flowering sun remains cased
in a glass orb,
surrounded by a clouded ball 
of glistening human vision.
The viewers stare amazed
at nature’s fire, but they are
blinded by their own darkness.

In the shallow hall where people queue 
waiting to be engulfed
by the fiercely burning hue.
I stand back, taking the world 
within my hand; I describe the picture 
of ironic living.

Left by the wayside
by a flash lightning stream,
I see the river thunder towards
oblivion.
Where shallow graves
smile with open arms
in the infinite ocean of epitaphs.

But, observing this view
I’m pulled in by the 
icy clasp of conformity;
into the maelstrom of living
where people remain in line,
still
&
confined.

..Humanity Beached

humanity beached 
pink flesh broiling in the sun...
fish and chips with oil
  
*seasoned with summer

Beached

The rowdy party racks the August Camp.
Beer flows in one end and out the other.
The tin siding vibrates with rock.
The sound rolls “over Beethoven” 
in a corrugated groove.

The heat baked, potato-skinned,
hormone riddled teens gyrate.
Lip-locked; they rub bright young bodies
across a terrain of Appalachians and delta’s.

Sweat runs like rain between dream Dean eyes
and Marilynesque breasts, luscious peaches,
down curves a roller coaster would envy
with the passenger having
no less enjoyment for the ride.

Paired they leap into the black flies night.
Paired to the hot rods roaring pistons pride.
Paired they race into the ice-cooler chill
of Megunticook Lake.
Paired and naked, clothing tossed in wheel wells;
panties antennae wire glories
Relief floods their sensuous slide 
lapping the beach of desire

Beached

Feelings - heavy, like bricks, 
like whales without buoyancy - 
helpless and misguided 
as when they come to land.

Beached - trapped in a world 
too different from their own,
an environment so foreign that 
even the simplest motion of breathing 
is a physical impossibility.

But I am not that whale - 
just a human adjusting and coping as best I can,
struggling to bear the weight of these feelings, 
waiting for the tides to change.

I am not a whale.

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