Best Sand Dollar Poems
It's quiet here - quiet in a way that catches me off guard. The tranquility is almost tangible, something I can touch and hold and wrap around myself. I can hear the pulse of faraway waves, the faint hum of the wind, the nonsensical call of distant seagulls. I can hear my own heartbeat, pounding along with the waves.
As I kick off my sandals, my spirit steps out of my body, leaving behind the material baggage of city life. The sand is soggy beneath my feet and I know my footprints will disappear when the sea rises, as if I were never here at all.
It's low tide, that magical time when the sea recedes to reveal the ocean floor. Grooves of sand catch pockets of water that are half-buried mirrors, reflecting pale blue sky and slices of violet sunlight that glitter like chipped diamond.
a vocal seagull
descends toward liquid skies –
reflections ripple
At low tide, a second beach emerges, stretching all the way across the bay to the opposite shore. I walk slowly, tasting salt on the breeze as it runs invisible fingers through my hair. Strands sweep across my face, catching in my eyelashes before fluttering free once more.
The beach is a dream catcher, snagging small treasures when the sea withdraws. And I am a child again, fascinated by the hermit crab retreating into his shell as I approach. I spot the dimpled surface of an urchin’s shell peeking out from wrinkled sand. Other shells are scattered across the beach, some upside down, exposing smooth, pearly souls.
a tiny starfish
drifts beneath placid water –
lost constellation
When I find a sand dollar, my breath catches. It’s perfectly whole, with smooth, rounded edges and clean, ivory skin. It’s heavy and light all at once, the flawless design at its center subtle and brilliant, like a delicate floral tattoo. How many hours had I spent here as a child, searching for this transitory coin?
My eyes fill with unexpected tears as my vision wavers behind distorted pools of grief. I’m half-blind until I blink, releasing salty rivers down my cheeks. Even then, my sight is murky.
My tears taste like the ocean and I think, suddenly: Whose tears fill the sea?
Written: November 4, 2015
For Charlotte's "Creative Haibuns" Contest
SOUL TO SOUL
(Written for Mother Sandy Stone, whom I met in 1992.)
SOUL TO SOUL ***
The early morning call.
A sand dollar skitters in before its rushing wave.
A message bringing within a mosaic of tears,
long to explore.
The sand dollar rolling ahead
of a white-foaming wave.
Memory catapults her presence
again beside me.
The sand dolllar pauses on some wet sand
and slowly gives the sky a twirl.
Hers was an enfolding heart that Gave and Knew.
The sand dollar, yet to tip, receives
the brightness of the sun.
Hers was the company of light, soul to soul.
The sand dollar at last rests,
beyond any waves pulling it back.
The everywhere she went, already misses her.
The sand dollar, not thrilled by blank, blue sky,
Is joyous to see tiny fingers taking hold of its
circling side,
blocking the sun with such
a blessed giggling heart.
——————————————————————————
(c) sally young Eslinger 2/5/22
Glory to God
Dearest sand dollar, bring me piece
Bring me tomorrow and an ocean rose
Bring the wind that I might hear you
That I might know your wisdom
Dearest sand dollar, hold together
Give me hope and a friend on the beach
Give leave to shadows and jade
So I can smile at the hot sunshine
Dearest sand dollar, last forever
Leave me with nothing more to need
Leave me warm in the night
For I wish to grow fruit in my garden
Dearest sand dollar, break in the waves
Show me a fragment of perfection
Show me that the sun will always set
I want to be more than just another sand dollar in the sand
Inspiration:
Written when I was in search of my wife. I knew she was here somewhere; I was just
having trouble figuring out where exactly.
With sand dollars in our pockets
we could live without a care;
I would lasso two sea horses;
we would ride them everywhere.
A simple life of freedom
would be yours and mine to share;
living solely for each other
on a silver strand somewhere.
Oh, the heartache men would barter
just to smell the sweet sea air
unencumbered by the burdens
that came upon them unaware.
They would trade a pile of money
For a day without fanfare,
Walking barefoot on white beaches--
just sand dollar millionaires.
Copyright, July 29, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
It's amazing where we find ourselves.
As she walks along the shore, you see her staring endlessly at the sands floor.
Why would someone come to a place filled with so much beauty around, only to embrace what was below that she kept reaching for on the ground.
Maybe there is beauty her eyes met upon that floor.
It was far overlooked since most individuals are focused on the oceans waves crashing to shore.
I would be remise to suggest her serene bliss, every time she found another without any chips.
She suddenly reached and this bend took some time to realign her spine, but when she did you seen the sun hit a tear rolling down her cheek, I watched her lips read, chipped enough and beautiful like me.
It was the beauty of the ocean that allowed her to see that her pain, and her heart were a little imperfect, but God made her perfect, like all her sand dollars collected, would be.