Best Beaching Poems
Global warming is causing climate change:
while ice sheets at the poles are melting fast;
as oceans and deserts increase their range.
Whales and porpoises are beaching, so strange,
nearing extinction, they're among the last:
global warming is causing climate change.
Folks are acting like a dog with the mange,
scratching out a living, lost to the past;
as oceans and deserts increase their range.
Tomorrow buys today; that's the exchange:
greed pushes progress, with few questions asked:
global warming is causing climate change.
Though over time, theories interchange:
the amount of damage is far too vast:
as oceans and deserts increase their range.
We've lost all hope that time will rearrange
these unscheduled changes: the die's been cast.
Global warming is causing climate change
as oceans and deserts increase their range.
On ocean bowride below gentle titans peep
ghost ships of the Pacific hunt and chase -
where great barnacled seafarers of the deep
beneath the waves its blue waters grace.
Old sea tales of killing lance and spear tip
tell of the dying struggle of the flurry -
once more mighty hulks of beast and ship
haunt the dark shadows of the undersea.
Let no harpoon pierce your skin,
no flense cut and slice,
not body or fin.
Let no kill sound its death throes,
and may long
live the shout of “thar she blows!”
Far and yon an old boneyard whaling station
fluking bulls and cows circle the perilled pod,
and breach and dive in fabled echolocation
the bones of Ahab and wreck of the Pequod.
Still ghost ships old hunting grounds scout
that mystic echo whalesong far reaching,
and still cavernous mouths unmade to shout
trap by moon and tide on remote beaching.
Let no harpoon pierce your skin,
no flense cut and slice,
not body or fin.
Let no kill sound its death throes,
and may long
live the shout of “thar she blows!”
Written: July 1992
Humpback beauties call to their young
Communicating to calves so precious
Don't be so immediately audacious
You can wander, just don't go too long
Blubberous parents are there to keep them close
For companionship, warmth and learning
Send each other many signals, the little one is yearning
Because of the ocean they want to make the most
Eating their fill of plankton and krill
The smaller babe makes a hydro sonic point
To the older one who loves this oceanic joint
He doesn't want to hurt or kill
The humans who eavesdrop on their descant
Like some other whales with mammoth choppers
Accidentally maiming overboard fishermen and surfers
These watery wonders are appreciated that's all they ever want
Imbibing benevolent attention only for half a century
Deep sea divers first decided to bring down equipment
When he spoke his special song, they had no idea what the male bull meant
That day being approached he was so hesitant and on sentry
Because whalers before had waited for them to breach
The surface for mere minutes finding some oxygen
Finding instead a foreboding air of danger without question
So reclusive they remain, staying out of reach
Beaching is another danger when whales will cry
For help they so need it and must be rolled back out
A benign thing on sand dangerously sprawled about
Back into the depths it should be before it go dry
Nature's biggest mammals can never be at rest
In the wild and bountiful marine, using fluked tales to swim around
Whales have a lot to say, their stories abound
In civilized society with whale translators today we are at our best
Making compact discs of them, something special we can keep
The arias of the ocean composed of many shores
Whales speak responding in the ripples as prophets do with lore
It works quite well for some, to lull ourselves to sleep
We should always stay in assonance.
The leaves are dead
The birds are dying
Fish are lying
Trying to catch their breaths
On the shores of the world
On unknown beaches
Deaf dolphins and whales
Gasp in polluted waters
Beaching themselves trying to live
Land creatures are having their problems too
People and animals are dying every day
Thank you fake progress
Polluting corporations deny climate change
though they continue to pollute the air and water
Impervious to peoples health
Can you hear life on this planet screaming in despair?
Big business and their shills repudiate apocalyptic signs
Killing all hope that living things in the future will survive
They hoard their ill gotten gains in secret accounts
Hoping to outlive the catastrophe and chaos they have wrought.
Do you hear the silence of the dead?
We are all of us crazy…
Mad in passions like a mystic forest
Where flowers swat away at bees
And trees refuse to grow past crippled bushes
With fields of roses painting themselves black
And streams beaching misplaced whales
All the while fish seek to prance along deer,
All mad, in this mystic forest,
Where fish can breathe aground
And a rose need not fumble with a brush
In a forest now harmonious in discourse
And so we are all of us crazy
From those of us in a sordid love affair with gravity
Plummeting fatal depths on bungee cords
To those of us who live life like mutes
Afraid to share
Yet spill their hearts on paper, privy to the world
While others they laugh at tragedy,
And see black where there is white
And all of us are afraid of words
Handled swords, that we chose to grasp by the point
And are we crazy to act out of place
In a forest that thrives on ill-fitting puzzles
Is it sane for the fish that has lungs to live beneath the waves?
Is it crazy to be yourself
And not an imposter?
been pretty bad people
burst pipes belching putrid
burgundy petrol
being perfect bleeding puddle
Big People bringing
poverty
bleating pelicans
barges paddling
bereaving patriots
bludgeoning prosperity
beaching promises
burdening posterity
breaking premises
but progressive
bitter Promethean
broken president
believing politics
bereft policies
brokers power
bringing plundering
barons power
bigger profits
bestial power
What did I do today!
By Stanley Russell Harris
The new mad author
& A Poetry Soup honourably mentioned poet
I looked on the Facebook BBC News.
As that’s where I express my views.
As it does say, ‘write a comment,’ it’s true.
And as a writer, that’s what I like to do.
Today it’s more sad news to say.
On the other side of the world today.
Whales are sadly beaching themselves.
Not one or two but in their pod crowds.
None are looking sick I say.
As in the shallows their life fades away.
Looks like to me, like they were on their way.
In one direction, I meant to say.
So why are they determined to die?
Whales don’t commit suicide, I sigh.
Far more intelligent than you and I!
So why do they all want to die?
I mention Haarp I do you know.
But no one that path seems to go.
Is it because it’s a USA black operation?
Something I read on the internet.
And something, I cannot forget.
Or is it all those wind turbines?
Vibrating sound through the seafloor!
Sending sounds everywhere.
Causing fish/wales to pull out their hair!
Scales is what I meant to say.
But poetry is meant to rhyme folk say.
Whatever the reason, no doubt mankind is involved.
Thick as two planks mankind is be told.
Not animals or fish, but folk like we are.
Interfering with nature as that’s what we are.
No wonder Whales go so wrong.
Man is interfering with their migratory song.
And with the mixed messages they do get.
They come ashore and their life forfeit.
And they will do it more and more.
Until the last ones on your shore.
And only then, when its last breath does take.
Man might realise his big mistake.
PS I should like to thank all those volunteers who are trying so hard to save the lives of our splendid sea creatures in particular the Whales down under.
the rhythmic waves
frothing to and fro
carry Middle Passage echoes
of journeying odysseys
the setting sun severs
the umbilical link
between Motherland
and her children in diaspora
reflecting grains of sand
catch crystalizing tears
of memories of faded shores
the bleeding breeze blows
sea seasoned whispers
flowing from lost voices
from sea to shining sea
we’ve been anchored
chained and auctioned
never can slavery be
a metaphor for memory
as waves dissipate
at the shores of time
no matter what beaches
we roam
the shores still sing songs
stealing home.
High Tide Returns
Once he sailed the fast Clipper of his heart
A mariner over blessed waves
Once on a fathom sea of womanhood
He drew water
To each compass point in her eyes
His sails were prayers
Laid in every pale crest and trough
The wind an alter
Where he stowed every breath and thought of love
The sea and canvass he was
As he sailed the schooner of his heart
At high tide
And pulled by the rolling breakers
And lured by the soft gentle sands
For The Sirens song
He braved the ragged teeth of the waters
Came to where the masts and rigging
Seduced his ship beaching
On easy and conciliate sands
The keel of his soul ran aground
Marooned now amidst angry rocks
Winter storms consuming the dunes
Of love
Stuck fast the once kissing prow
Trapped to scavenge the wrecks of hearts
High tide is an echo
Has not returned yet
To slip the schooner from the drifts
A beachcomber to weather the blizzard
Waiting for the days to be warmer
This icy wind must someday cease in its bite
Hidden behind his tiny fire light
The sea she has bought him the driftwood of love
To warm the desolate nights
He can hear the new surf calling
Telling of gentler deeps ahead
Soon the heavy keel shall lift from this subtle trap
Then the moon may grant him high flood
And rest the rudder from her hands
Turn from the compass of her eyes
Set sails to another
To where an ocean resides
Even now he can hear her calling
Within the waves and the crests of this shore
Already the canvas is dreaming
Of catching another wind and billowing
So his heart will guide them once more
Say no farewell to these rocks and these crags
Where she bid him suck on these barnacled reefs before
He will not miss the soft gentle sands
He never had
And to this sad and cold beech
Where she once led his ship
Shall return never more
Soaking peace.
Waves,beaching themselves on the shore,
Palms wafting in the silent breeze,
A golden orb slowly sinking on the horizon,
Warmth caressing a body in need of rest,
The soft rippling of those fading waves,
The gentle swish of those lazy palms,
Making eyes feel drowsy and leaden,
Relaxation at the end of the day.
Soaking peace.
© Dave Timperley 29/01/2017
SPRING BEACHING
Wet and dry sands pleased,
frothing waves compensating
spring's sweet sunshine shores:-
My sinking feet feel the brush of sand below warm salty foam
as water's flowing rush retreats with sounds of many tumbled stones.
Sand clouds churn by water's turn and ankles wrap in sea grass tangles.
Drowned black beetle blows slowly by, beyond each beaching wave.
As sun rays warm my neck and back, my shadow comes and goes
where sand is flat, seen beneath the water's calm between waves' to and fro.
A single line of cotton clouds drips like a watercolour wash,
a few cold drops prick sun-warmed skin, small bright meteors holding sun within,
flung passing from bright sky.
These thousand tiny fireballs fall, flashing past my eyes,
and extinguish as they meet the sea, while playing children shriek surprise
at sunshine's passing shower.
Just a moment 24/07/2020
Earth talks without speech or words
Around the globe its message can be heard
Wildfires ravaging from Sydney to California
Massive floods from China to Oceania
Drought in Mauritania
Whales beaching in Tasmania
The starlit night proclaims the loom
Where can we hide from the doom
Neither in the sea nor in the cave
Neither in the dark nor in the grave
There is no place
beaching…
the rhythmic waves
frothing to and from
carry middle passage echoes
of journeying odysseys
the setting sun severs
the umbilical link
between motherland
and her children in diaspora
reflecting grains of sand
catch crystallizing tears
of memories of faded shores
the bleeding breeze blows
sea seasoned whispers
flowing from lost voices
from sea to shining sea
we’ve been anchored
chained and auctioned
never can slavery be
a metaphor for memory
as waves dissipate
at the shores of time
no matter what beaches
we roam
the shores still sing songs
stealing home.
Pebbles tumble,
to the shore,
my thoughts tumble,
my heart,
sore
My thoughts,
my very core,
are like driftwood,
beaching gently on the shore
Thes new things,
what's it all for?
Rush of noisy white surf,
to the shore
Thoughts churn,
how things turn!
Things I could
Things I should,
driftwood,
to the shore
White water on high tide,
my thoughts,feelings,
this driftwood i ride
Drifting to the shore,
it has purpose,
for the things you see
are not a curse
for what can be.
Live the day
before it is taken away
This pebbly beach,
the values it can teach.
The driftwood
to the shore,
brings it to the fore
This blue sky burns me deep,
inwards I weep,
for I stumble
to find,
the words of a kind,
to make me humble
For the sea
in it's tidal war,
claims my heart sore.
This driftwood
and the thoughts held at bay
washed away,
as it should
For I start a new day
with new driftwood.......
to the shore