Toward The Sea Poems | Examples

Whispers of the Wild

I walked where the trees don’t speak—

yet somehow, I heard everything.
The wind and the trees held secret meetings,
and the leaves nodded in agreement,
like spectators dressed in green.

The waters didn’t rush—
they marched steadily down the riverbank,
telling stories in ripples—
of rain that once fell,
and mountains they had kissed on the way.

The sun appeared,
golden and gentle.
Snakes and lizards lay still,
watching its every move,
careful not to miss a single step
that warmed every corner of the land.

And the birds—
they sang and danced
to the rhythm of the wind,
and to the slow ripening
of wheat and corn.

Even the silent waters grew bold—
I could hear their rhythm
as they carried a message
toward the sea.

A message sent
by the kings of the mountains
to the queen of the tides:

"Remind the man
who rides the wooden boat—

to plant more trees.

For when the last tree falls,
there will be no boat
strong enough
to ride the rising tide."

— By Davie Kaliu

Visions of the Vale

“Look deep into nature and you’ll understand everything better.”
Albert Einstein 

I stood on the sloped path near the waterfall.
Mesmerised by the sound of falling water.
     All around grew green-leafed ferns,
     While tall poplars and redwoods provided
Ample shade that covered the running stream.
Tall purple pickerel plants, scarlet cardinal plants,
Everything contributed to a sublime, picturesque sight.
     A symphony of sounds emanated completely around.
     Frogs croaked in great abundance, jumping in and out,
Of the clear stream where fish swam toward the sea.
And all around, busy bees fluttered over exotic flowers,
Where nectar provided them with such sweet nourishment.


Placed 1

The Fragile Embrace

I saw you in my dreams again.
You arrived quietly,
like a bird resting on the edge of my solitude,
your presence soft enough
to make me believe the night was merciful.

I held you a little tighter this time,
my arms becoming the walls of a house
I wished you’d never leave.
I whispered words
that only dreams can hold—
promises too fragile for daylight.

I knew, even as I pressed you closer,
that you were slipping through my fingers,
a river running toward the sea.
I knew when I woke,
you would be gone.
You always are.

But I held you anyway,
the way the earth holds the rain
knowing it will evaporate.
The way a poet clings to a word
that won’t stay on the page.

And when morning came,
I woke to an empty room
filled with your echo.
Your absence was a shadow
that stretched across my bed,
a reminder that even in my dreams,
you are not mine to keep.

Still, I will close my eyes tonight,
and wait for you to return.
For even a fleeting touch in the dark
is enough to keep the heart alive,
enough to make the pain of waking
a price I am willing to pay.

Dream of Yesterday's Wishes

My life was a river, and I was a willow twig, 
Bobbing on a creek toward the sea.
Strong, fast, lively children tried to catch me and failed.
The greatest sports hero, I dreamed I'd be.  
A boy and a lovely girl held hands and gazed on
A river that once was a brook,
And I wished I'd have the most beautiful girl
Whereupon the bright sun did look. 
Floating along, I came upon a charming cottage
With a window-box filled with flowers.
I dreamed I'd have the grandest mansion ever built
With balconies, turrets and towers.  
As the water grew wider, and the sea grew nearer,
I saw young willows, healthy, and green.
I wished I would have all of the health and vigor
Of a strapping boy of fifteen. 
At last, the grand river emptied into the sea,
Where beachgoers could hear the sound
Of surf.  I heard it too, and I was still dreaming,
As a wave crashed and I drowned.

Cold Comforts

Beyond the wave-sacked pebbles
lie the pockmarked dunes,
sea-wind swept heaps,
burrowed by the claws of scaly thrashers.

Here they huddle, the working class,
flogging grim pleasures,
wolfing eggy sandwiches,
dipping tea-stained teeth into beakers
as a chill summer drizzles on.

I am a brine-spattered small fry,
a boyhood caught in a swirl
and flounder, bare feet
skimming the slimy kelp, stalking
an ankle tugging surf.

Mother, her demeanor
soggy and sagging at last,
pleads to be led back
to the creaking camper.

Father smokes a plug of leathery shag,
grunts upright, walks toward the sea,
looks to see God knows what,
then turns to drag me away,
from our holiday day.

Pebble Beach Day Out

Beyond the wave-sacked,
lie the pockmarked dunes, heaps dug
by the claws of scaly thrashers.

Here they huddle, my blood kin
flogging grim pleasures,
wolfing eggy sandwiches,
dipping tea-stained teeth into beakers.

By a shoaling shale and monochrome spray
one brine-splattered small fry.
A boyhood caught in a swirling freshet,
he whales barefoot in the flounder,
skimming the slimy kelp, stalking
a slippage of tugging surf.

Her demeanor soggy at last, mother
goads to be led to the creaking camper.
Father smokes a plug of leathery shag,
grunts upright, walks toward the sea.

A toppled thermos and leftovers
scooped up and lugged away.
Windswept, the lingerers
trudge from the chilly churn,
while a soused and hectoring bay
records a working-class holiday.

As a Fantasy Stems

While the whole dimness is red and blasting. 
With vile gravity longing and blue lightning. 
Beyond that is the splendid pop-dotted moon. 
My crisis leaves moans in the lack of twist soon.

The dreadful agony of a long-running river.
He'd never borne a comely man who could quiver.
To cut off the stone ribboning toward the sea.
The water aggravation observes the hollow tree.

The river's ache witnessed the stones rebirth.
Witness to every morning wake-up, mirth
When she enters the glorious sunrise haze.
Crimson haywire and thunder-neutered skies.

The creator arranged this future, yet it's blurring. 
Until my brain tracks down rest in sacred singing.

Written: November 13, 2021

Molasses In January

She’s a tedious lecture after a heavy meal,
A glacier inching coolly toward the sea.
She’s sluggish and poky, a dawdling bore,
A long drawn-out adagio, a passive devotee.
She’s tardy in attendance, and belated, as a rule.
Her lethargic applications lack dispatch.
Her dilatory effort winds the thread around the spool.
Her needlepoint is anything but rash.
Her slothful intervention into indolent affairs
Leaves her anchor dragging in the mud.
But even though she’s running at a laggard’s pace,
I sit here waiting patient, as I should.

Mama Bear Who Flies Into a Rage For Almost No Reason

Today's entertainment for the cave is easy. 
We watch an easily manipulated grizzly fly into mama bear mode
She races toward the sea, plunging in, looking for her cub
He is not there.it was a lie; she looks furious!

She comes out sputtering, eats a few campers.
Spits out their stomachs.
They always eat the wrong foods! She shrieks.
Her mate is there now, he is holding back, he looks fearful.

He helps her look, but their son is nowhere in sight.
An evil crow sends them on a goose chase to the west.
The geese fly up in front of them, hitting their butts on rooftops.
It is insane how crazed Mama Bear appears now.

When should we tell her? Black Bear asks the other mama bears.
Let her chase through the meadow and stomp the flowers first.
Grizzly bear son appears at that second, ruining the women's fun.
It is over, until tomorrow when they plan to rile her up again.

No one riles faster than this grizzly bear mama
Or has made fewer friends; the other women despise her.
She overreacts to everything!
They have been the recipients of her wrath,
so they love watching her fly into a rage over nothing.
Unfortunately, it is their weekly entertainment.

Moments

Paper lanterns carrying spirits of the dead
Wind their way toward the Sea of Japan;
A procession bearing its own light,
Silently, to a destination without moments.

Moments, the interface through which life flows
From now to then, are put back like old videos
To be on recall; the deeper the collection,
The more likely reruns become loops. 

A sign above the bar promises, “Free beer tomorrow”.
Tomorrow, alas, never a moment, but a construct
Residing near yesterday, is as misunderstood as
The Hookers of Kew; pressing, mounting.

Copyright 2021, Paul Thomson

In An Inkling - 1

In an inkling
Sunlight flickers out
Hidden behind dark clouds
Dimming even my reflections

In an inkling
Raindrops caress my skin
Refreshing, reviving
Even my thoughts are adventures

In an inkling
Leaves in hues of green
Dance, twirling in the wind
Enlightening my wildest dreams

In an inkling
Rivers flow across smooth stones
So alive, yet so alone
Winding their way toward the sea

In an inkling
Seasons change the air
Gracing hearts with prayers
Peppering life with serenity so rare

In an inkling
Rainbows breathe hope
Painting souls in shades of glory
Gentling even the blistering sun

In an inkling
Morning rouses the spirit
Reveries capture kind feelings
Inspirations fall over nature’s miracles

In an inkling
God opens the door for joy
Blessing us all with pure faith
Poured out on those who know grace

In an inkling
Love beckons the heart
Inspiring affections and thoughts
Of generosity, understanding and praise

In an inkling
My idyll thoughts flicker
With images far in the distance
Of a heaven where I can grow sweeter






Idyll Thoughts poetry contest
Sponsored by John lawless
September 3, 2021

River Tigris

Tigris, Idigna, Idiqual, 
watering parched desert lands
of Mesopotamia.
Swift it flows on the East
toward the sea, from
the once fertile Garden of Eden. 
Arterial blood of arid lands, 
of transportation,
of trade and commerce.
In spring, mountain snowmelt
tumbles and rushes downward,
flooding alluvial plains for farming,
sharing its life-giving waters
from time immemorial to villages,
towns, and great cities.

- West Toward the Sea -

Near the ground
                                 here at home in the west
                                 A separate territory,
                                 a hymn
                                 to
                                 the sea and
                                 the sky
                                 The eye catches
                                 drifting clouds ~
                                 as
                                 gloss images
                                 with lace
                                 from grandma's time



                                 20/08/2021
                                 Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
                                 Copyright © All Rights Reserved

Cool Clear Waters

A mountain stream
Laughing, longing, lasting
Through moments, wishes
Gentle vibrations
Craving the breathless
Praise flowing over
Smooth stones, racing free
Toward the sea of
Whispering grace
Breathing melodies
Beneath the shadows
Of humility and prayer
A humble farewell
As rainfall and dewdrops
Caress the misty morn
Rich hues of hope
Falling lightly
Against silent thoughts
Imagination, inspiration
Alive, dancing eagerly
Lighting the heart
With ambiences 
Of faith, praise
Softly calling, scrutinizing
Searching for love
Among the stars
Who gaze at the liquid
Lulling naked thoughts
Into easy reveries
Dreams of serenity
Reflecting on the sun
Rays of comprehension
Bidding my soul
Kind adventures
Through graceful sprays
Of hungry moisture
Thriving on the inside
Where colors of love
Light up the whole world





Anything You Want - Must be New Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
July 30, 2021

Rebirth

Spring is imminent,
but the salt marshes 
are not aware, for
the air is cold and drear.
Patchwork of tan and gray
stretches toward the sea,
cattails and reeds bend east
in a still chilly wind.

Bayberry and rosa rugosa,
blackened as if by fire,
huddle together, backdrop
for frost bitten sedges
decorated here and there
with shiny spills, silver pools
left by the last high tide,
reflecting the emptiness
of a white winter light.

And still the marshes sleep,
waiting for a length of days
warmed by a stronger sun
to stir them from their long nap,
for juices to flow into  
stiff, arthritic stems,
for leaves to branch out,
filling the marshes again
with a hundred shades of green
and buds of latent flowers.

Once again the process begins,
The unending work of rebirth.

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