Best Seaside Poems
I
when the world had no headsets
the sunbathing crowd
fell asleep to the sounds of
transistors played loud
while the deckchairs and windbreaks
kites, beach balls and more
formed the stripes, lines and circles
that painted the shore
and the longer I walked
on the sand to that sea
the more the sea seemed
to get further from me
and the crunch in my mouth
was that one grain of sand
in the sandwich I ate
with my sand covered hand
while the lemons and melons
and plums I'd watch spin
would stop short of a cherry
one click from a win
and the postcards we sent
from the end of the pier
had us writing such half truths
as "wish you were here."
II
from the end of the pier
through the stiff breeze
and spindrift
I can still hear the tunes
of the promenade bands
and I can still see the stripes
of the deckchairs and windbreaks
and the box kites
and beach balls
that painted the shore
and I can still taste
the butter
- warm like the canned ham
and the crunch of that sand
in the sandwich I had
and I can still hear the djs
laughing and talking
spinning hits of the sixties
from transistors
played loud
and I can still smell the onions
frying wild in the fairground
to the sound of the claxons
and the lemon. click. orange. click. melon.
click. click.
and I can still breathe the deep smoke
swirling in sand dunes
from the benson and hedges
and
player's no.6
and I can still see those grown ups
staring at mirrors
- their bodies distorted
like the dreams
they once had
today on the pier
the rain that's now falling
falls from a same sky
on a same sand
and same sea
and a same me
- yet this air
this air
is not the same air
as that air I
once
breathed.
When the
seaside sepulchre
of a kingdom,
without its queen,
is smeared with
screams of lighting,
I wish to crackle
these slivers
of silver shakle,
and devour
that consoling
taste of balsamic
twilight, which
drapes every
ritual of woe with
maleficent vows.
I wonder, if
the thievery of
of my soul, will
enhance the
crawling of
raven sun
or, bestow power
upon the baptised
mannequin,
by slaying those
jealous lilies,
floating in
summery
estuaries of
my stolen destiny.
As these sage flames
fly across the
chambers of
my castle,
petrifying those
puerile promises
of life, I seak to
be an amaranth,
rising beyond
oak skies as
I engulf those
taunting meteors that
enshroud my
solitude and
dethrone every
essence of
false light, that
consumed those
waltzing scents
of my sangria spring.
Has my heart
become a
fickle thorn,
who will keep
bleeding guidance
in moonlight or
shall this
fortnight be
traced by the last
streak of treacherous
bloodline?
Perhaps,
'The Goddess
of Thunder'
is unfurling
those flaming
rose' maidens,
who wish
to splash ebons
of roaring wreath,
across the
woeful vaults of
my ribcage,
which concealed
their silence
in sentinels of
sacrifice.
I don't assert
the want of
swathing myself
in the perfumed
petrichor of
heinous healing,
as I don't want to
quench this
rage that
is carving a
strife to
refuse my
surrender towards
this succumbing
darkness.
" I wish to be
the soul of a marionette's
pearly pupa,
satiated by fiery halo
of chrysalis,
and slowly weaving
silken hymns of
desperate hope,
desiring to emerge
from the emeralds,
that betray every eye... "
On our skin gleams pearl white sand
in the sheen of setting sun.
From sea deep as our love - come
waves caressing land.
For Brian Strand's
A POEM YOU LIKE any form/theme MAX 7 lines Poetry Contest
Late Summer sun on golden sands
Throws shadows from the cliffs and rocks
And the patiently-waiting donkeys stand
Near the aptly-named Refreshment Box.
Tea and coffee, squash and ice-cream,
Packs of biscuits and home made cake,
Sea salt spray and the seagulls’ scream
And sand castles that children make.
Nothing has changed much over time
Except for the friends no longer seen,
The friends when life was in its prime
Now lost in the years in between.
Wind and sea and waves and sun
sand in toes as day is done
Seagulls glide, sandpipers run
young dad splashes with his son
Breakers rise, translucent teal
lifeguards poised as youngsters squeal
Seniors search for shells - they feel
twelve again as sun rays heal
Sky on fire towards the west
clouds in lustrous fashion dressed
Cosmic artistry - I'm blessed
songs of peace swirl through my chest
Violins waft quietly
over swelling timpani
Saxophone soars soulfully
bidding hearts to be set free
Blushing scarlet, clouds advance
smell of salty foam enchants
Palm trees sway as in a trance
recalls young love's first slow dance
Couples stroll, fingers entwined
share a kiss if so inclined
Rising moon smiles as designed:
gives the anxious peace of mind
Waves still warm from midday blaze
surfers dance in sea-mist haze
Sailboats flee from stress-filled days
springtime struts; summer sashays
written 23 June 2023
The see-saw backsides of obesity traverse across the promenade
Led by bustling torpedo breasts thrusting through the hustling throng;
Past tarnished chromium espresso bars, burger vans with frying lard,
Ice cream parlours, sagging deckchairs and the sunlight blazing on.
Splayed upon the greying sands with butts of cigarettes in shallow graves,
Bikini babes in thin floss thongs, sun oil basted, lie and fry,
The effluence of sewage farms foams ochre crests upon the waves,
Cheap sunglasses and tinted shades warp vision as the seagulls cry.
Or are they coughing in the choking rise of hotdog onion smoke,
Or searing blast of diesel oil drove upwards from the fairground sprawl,
And do they dive for fish and chips discarded by the glutted folk
Until cholesterol weighs them down and they no longer fly but crawl?
Oh, I did like to be beside the seaside in the golden memories of my youth,
Before the tattooed mobs and greedy slobs and moguls came to town,
And though rose-tinted, real dreams of childhood wonder sing of truth,
But now I’d much prefer it if they torched and burned the whole place down.
Salt spray and Seagull
Cries…swaying palms…healing balm
Soothe both ears and eyes
Your daddy's boat is on its way.
The lighthouse sends a gleaming ray
that blinks and whirls in starry sky.
For you, sweet babe, this lullaby.
You soon shall be on Daddy's knee,
for though tonight he rides the sea,
he follows gulls that homeward fly.
I sing the seaside lullaby.
The beacon's beam is light that guides;
it's steadfast as the ocean's tides.
So close your eyes, for sleep is nigh.
For you, sweet babe, this lullaby.
Your daddy's boat is on its way.
I sing the seaside lullaby.
For Catie LIndsay's "Sing A Lull-a-bye" Contest
I lie back in our Adirondack chair,
And feel the soft breeze over sunset waves,
Drowsiness claims my senses. and
I imagine that ship in the distance I see
Shining in the last bit of day
Is my captain coming home to me.
In my heart I hear the flapping canvas,
The splashing of the oars,
And the jolly songs of sailor boys
Filled with happy anxiety.
Tattered and torn they may be
From their months riding on the sea,
For a while they will be home,
Though they will soon again roam
To the call of their passion, their love.
My captain warned me of a wife's loneliness,
But I love him more than any longing.
He is the holder of my heart,
And my life is my prayer for his safe return.
But it is only a seaside dream.
I will be the waves
and you, you will be the sand.
I’ll fall into you.
Have you ever felt the magic
when you're standing by the sea?
The rise and fall of ocean swells
Sublime serenity
In the morning's salty air
the working boats leave port
and anglers keen on fishy fare
go looking for some sport
The seabirds wheel and flap and cry
as dawn breaks overhead
but all these sights and sounds are lost
to those still tucked in bed
The tinkling of the rigging
of the yachts out on the bay
a gentle way of waking
in the first new light of day
The morning sun comes peeping through
a drifting bank of cloud
and on the beach, so empty now
will come a bustling crowd
The small boats now all set to sea
their sails so clean and bright
they jibe and tack across the wind
on which they seem so light
The afternoon now still and warm
there's naught but time to pass
the racing yachts all sit becalmed
upon a sea of glass
With evening come the twinkling lights
from far across the bay
a gentle breeze to cool the land
the closing of the day
Until tomorrow's light breaks through
I bid the sea 'farewell'
But in my dreams I fall asleep
upon the ocean swell.
From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"
Modest swimsuits, bathing boxes
White-blue flesh ice cold
Scratchy towels, sandy sandwiches
Pots of tea being sold
Foxford blankets, picnic baskets –
A donkey ride on the strand
Flowery summer frocks, mischief brimming
A practical joke being planned
Hesitant breast strokes – high pitched laughter
Terror, delight ‘the cold’! -
Sunburn, windburn, scalded skin –
‘You’ll remember this when you are old’
Your mother is calling ‘the picnic is ready’
‘I’ll be there in a minute’, you say.
As you dive down again under –
The sea bed to plunder -
‘There is treasure down there, Mam’ you say!’
Landladies’ rules, pubs with high stools
‘– A large bottle, sir, if you please -
And may be a chaser?’ ‘You are a disgrace, sir -
The night will blow away with the breeze’.
A day at the races, smiles on mens’ faces,
Jingles in pockets, dinner in ‘Rocketts’ -
A beer and a ***, a joke and a drag –
‘This is grand, Sir!’
Which horse do you fancy – I think Mary Nancy
Called after his missus – and just as delicious
‘A winner for sure, sir
And what are you bettin’? Think of what you’ll be gettin’
When you win on the jackpot –
It is certain, sir!’
Sea-side rock plastic,
Coloured windmills fantastic
Naughty postcards to be hidden
– Their content forbidden,
By your mother –
The day’s nearly over –
You are tired – you’ll recover
For a night at the amusements – you have one and twopence
Clean clothes, polished shoes and a song.
On the watery quilt
does the setting sun
repose itself.
the coastal train began to slow
as two tracks merged together
it stopped at the end of a single line
in freezing winter weather.
the arrow on the 'way out' sign
led me through a covered hall
but my ticket proving I had paid
was never checked at all.
I walked downhill towards the sea
and left behind the train
motionless at its terminus
and exposed to driving rain.
a small boutique was “CLOSING DOWN!!”
on its "FINAL BIG SALE" day
but despite saying “OPEN” on its door
it had long closed anyway.
I walked past moving spinning lights
that chased and made a noise
inside a place where grabbing cranes
missed grabbing plastic toys.
a gull perched on a wet sea wall
shrieked out its gull like sound
it never moved as I walked by
but stared and stood its ground.
the mist and sky were grey and one
and rain was teeming hard
as thick wet sheets of 'nothingness'
blanked out the promenade.
a man head bowed against the storm
and dog chasing its tail
were at the mercy on the beach
from rain that morphed to hail.
and all those places I once knew
'were on a different street'
with signs that stated "VACANCIES"
and "BEDROOMS ALL EN-SUITE"
I never found that B & B
recalled through misty eyes
and the park that I remember
over time had shrunk in size.
there were parts of town I recognized
and parts that I’d forgot
the cinema had disappeared
but the beach café had not.
with all its red formica tables
and warm and cosy light
the small café dispelled the cold
and put the rain to right.
there was beauty and some sadness too
jolting memories by the sea
I’d reached out to a time long gone..
..and it half reached back to me.
The seaside...now there is a place I like to be,
To get away from the city the neighbours and some family,
To lay on the beach without a care at all,
Watching people swimming, sunbathing or just playing with a ball,
At the seaside you can eat fish and chips,
Or you can simply gaze at the distant ships,
Listening to the rocks crackle in the ebb and flow,
Of the blue crisp ocean going to and fro,
The cool sea breeze and Cornish ice cream,
Will always be with me in a seaside dream,
Yeah I really love to be by the coast,
And I hate going home the most,
So one day I will make the move and live by the sea,
Until I get old and life’s had enough of me.