Summer At The Beach
It is late morning and I arrive at the beach,
Which is alive with so many sights, sounds and smells.
The sound of the rhythmic waves can be heard,
As can the sound of children's excited whoops and yells.
The sea glints and glitters in the shining sun.
The feel of wet sand beneath my feet is pure bliss.
Just being here enlivens all of my senses
And the feeling is way too good to miss.
The surfers are out and about in full force,
Hoping with their hearts to catch the waves they crave.
Lifeguards keep watch from the beach that all is well
And anyone they see getting into difficulty, they'll save.
Dogs splash around at the water's edge.
They shake their coats; the droplets drench like rain.
Then, having splashed everything in sight,
They race back down to the water and dash back in again!
Small yachts can be seen way out to sea;
Their white sails glinting like pure snow.
A speed boat zig zags, zipping across the bay,
Leaving a frothy white trail as it goes.
The cries of seagulls can be heard
As they wheel around on the lookout for a bite to eat.
Discarded bits of sandwich, doughnut or crisps
Are often found and for them make a tasty treat.
Walking and talking or just lost in their thoughts,
People stroll along the seemingly endless prom.
Losing all track of time and distance,
Amazed when they look back to see where they've walked from.
Children are splashing about in the sea,
Or building sandcastles of every kind,
While others go off exploring the rock pools
Full of excited anticipation of what they may find.
Some people are happy to sit in the sun
On a towel or on a sun lounger and relax,
While others like to play sports or games,
Wanting to live their lives to the very max!
At the kiosks along the front, there are massive queues
Buying chips, burgers, doughnuts, popcorn and soft drinks.
Sat in their stripy deckchairs outside their beach huts,
People read the paper or try to catch forty winks.
People are sat on the patio outside the pub on the prom,
Eating and drinking and busily chatting away.
With the warm summer sun kissing their skin,
They wish this moment would last all day.
Sunny days like these really lift your mood,
And it's a shame we don't see much of this weather.
But when these sun-drenched days do come along,
You wish they could go on for ever and ever!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Bournemouth Blues
In the summer, in the baking sun,
Bournemouth oozes a sense of fun,
But in the winter, when skies are grey,
I have no real desire to want to stay.
Today, the silvery sea is surfer-less;
The wind on my face is cold and fresh.
On my face, I can feel the sea's spray,
As, along the prom, we make our way.
The beach beyond is now almost bare;
The wild wind roughly ruffles my hair.
A couple of people walk along the pier;
In the sea air, there is now left little cheer.
The sea is coloured like a grey battleship;
No kiosks are open for fish and chips.
At the seafront pub, we have a cup of tea;
We sit by the window, looking out to sea.
At the seafront pub, the people are all inside;
At this time of year, there's no Land Train ride.
Out on the ocean, no boats are bobbing about;
From the Fairground, there are no excited shouts.
Down on the beach, dogs are exercised;
Up in the air, seagulls execute noisy cries.
Towards the beach, the waves all race;
Topped with foam, which looks like lace.
That it was still summer, I really do wish;
The sounds of summer, I really do miss.
Along the seafront, we do not stroll,
Because the weather is far too cold.
Darkness starts to fall, come late afternoon:
In my opinion, it draws in way too soon.
The daylight now quickly begins to fade,
As, back to the Station, we make our way.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Down to the beach
Down to the beach
Down to the beach
On a sunny day we go
Beach bags packed with sun screen lotions
Hands rubbing people’s backs in slow motion
Glistening oily bodies radiating with sensation
Down to the beach
Down to the beach
Where a chilly sea breeze blows
Let’s have some fun
In the red-hot sun
Down to the beach
Only there the ladies reveal saucy behinds
Whenever the raging sun is still kind
Down to the beach
As never-ceasing waves play across the shores
People happily play dreading any rainy downpour
Down to the beach
Where young lovers closely nestle
As sand creatures cause the sand to bristle
Seagulls gliding in the air with screams and whistles
Kids picking up shells and building stormy sand castles
Down to the beach
Where mostly good vibes flow
Down to the beach
We go whilst there is still sun without snow
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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At The Water's Edge
At the water’s edge, I stop and stand for a while.
Lost in thought, my face wears a hint of a smile.
Chalky cliffs are covered with a white, misty veil;
To spot them, in the distance, you could almost fail.
Across the sea’s surface, waves restlessly roam;
They break, and create lots of thick, frothy foam.
The water laps against the shore in a wavy line;
The lines of land and sea, are difficult to define.
My toes sink deep into the dark, sodden sand,
At the very point, where the sea meets the land.
The sand is peppered with pebbles and sea shells.
Nearby, I hear a child’s excited squeals and yells.
I scoop up a handful of water: it’s as cold as ice;
It sparkles in the sunlight, which looks rather nice.
Salty seawater rains down from my frozen fingers;
Suspended in mid air, for a split second, it lingers.
Under the sultry sun, the sea glimmers and glistens.
To the seagulls’ rowdy, raucous cries, I love to listen.
Being barefooted by the water’s edge is so very tactile;
The joy experienced is the same for both man and child.
Looking back up the beach, I spy the silken sand dunes;
When walked upon, the sands sing, and play little tunes.
I love being by the sea; I love the sights and the sounds;
Being by the sea, is one of the best ever feelings around.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Port Fairy In January
Port Fairy in January on a warm and humid saturday
The beach full of people the young splash and play
In the shallows where the small waves splash onto the beach
In a place safe to swim where the life savers can reach
Anyone who gets in trouble and for help have to shout
To the beach for safety they will drag them out
And if necessary so give them mouth to mouth
The worth of the Life Saver is never in doubt
In the prime of the Summer at the start of the New Year
When people still enjoy the Seasonal cheer
Ageing and younger people and many girl and boy
A dip in salt-water do seem to enjoy
People of all ages and colours and mostly every Race
Make Port Fairy in January quite a busy place.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On This Beach...
Life is a beach.
There are jellyfish. And sea urchins…the painful bumps along the road that we all encounter in life. On this beach.
In life..and on a beach there is warm water-like times, when we are happy, and have good times and enjoy living. On this beach.
We also have times, like a beach, when we have cold water times; when we are sad, or upset about losing someone or something. On this beach.
There are rough times, the same way the sea has rough water that pounds angrily against the shore. On this beach.
Life, like the sea, has high and low times, or tides. There is low tide when you think u can no longer go on, that life has done too much damage to you. Then the tide comes back in…and you are reminded that life goes on. Life gets better. You cannot give up on life, like you can’t give up on a beach because of a rough day or low tides. On this beach.
Life has sharks. Maybe not the same sharks from a beach, but they are there. They are the people that thrive on your pain and tears and hardship, the same way a shark sustains itself through brutal killing of unaware seals who don’t know what is coming or how bad it is. The sharks are there. Waiting. For someone…for you…like an unsuspecting seal, to come along and unknowingly become trapped in their lies and hurt. On this beach.
Life…has good times. Wonderful times where the only thoughts you have are about how much life is worth living and how much you love life. It is like the clear, cool blue water on a beautiful day at the beach. On this beach.
Life has those amazing people….akin to the beachgoers on a sandy shore…just along for the ride…to enjoy the good…and pack up and leave when it rains or something goes wrong. But there are the surfers..the daredevils…going back into the fear and love of the sea….of life. They risk the sharks, and jellyfish, and rough water and low and high tides, not because they are invincible, but because they know about the good that is to be had in this world. On this beach.
Life is so comparable to a beach…most importantly in that it has sand like a beach. Billions upon billions of unique grains of sand, like the 7 billion different people in this world, on this beach.
poem by Dark Fallout
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Summer All The Time
The sky is as blue as a sapphire
Graceful birds keep flying higher
Time to relax and time to have fun
Eating ice-cream in the sun
Eating ice-pops with my friend
We hope this day will never end
The beach is full of smiles and laughter
People tend to be less nastier
Everyone is wearing sun hats
Others are sun bathing on comfy mats
Some people have sun cream on
Children are playing with water bombs
Waves splashing upon the shore
Sun burnt people are very sore!
poem by Abbey FutcherElliott
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Lost At Sea.
You remember now the sound of the sea,
The crashing of waves, the white and grey
Gulls in the sky. Mother said, don’t go too
Far out; keep an eye on the young ones.
The cold water made you hop about when
It first went over your bare feet. You knew
Where the young ones were, you could see
Them there at the water’s edge running in
And out as the cold water chased them.
The beach was crowded; the crowds seemed
To occupy each area with their deckchairs,
Windbreakers and towels spread on the sand.
The bright sun shone down heavily; the air
Was still. And Mother’s voice loudly shouting,
Where’s Baba? Where’s she gone? And the
Place she was with the others was without
Her presence now; the panic gripped you.
Your eyes scanned the beach and sea; you ran
Along the beach near the water’s edge gazing
Out at the wide expanse of ocean, ignoring the
Passing ships on the horizon, the sailing boats,
The far out swimmers, just looking for Baba,
Your eyes searching each face, each child, every
Little one running on the beach or out at sea out
Of reach. Mother came running down the beach
Towards you, her face red with effort, her mouth
Screaming out words carried off by the other
Sounds and the sea’s call, pointing out at ocean’s
Hold as a man came up and out of the waves,
Water dripping, eyes wide, and in his arms, Baba
Limp and her swaying head, hair hanging wet,
Seeming lost to you, small arms swinging, dead.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Power Of The Beach
As we walked along the beach, crashing waves
thundered in our ears and a light, salted mist,
dampened our lips.
The sun began to set and the voice of the beach,
traveled across the ocean waves.
'I am the beach, and here you shall find peace.
I am the beach, here you shall find love.
In this domain, my beach, the answers you
search for, could very well be found here.
For at this beach, there is much,
that has been revealed.
The sparkled, white grains of sand, that blanket
this beach, has been a bed of comfort, to many.
Pause, as you come upon this beach, and listen
to the symphony of waves and the chorus of
birds, singing their song, as they glide in the wind.
Feel the power of this beach, as it seems to
renew your inner being. You need not question
the beach and its mystical powers. For as
millions before you have found, the beach...
and its magical transference to one...have
existed, since the beginning of time.
Be not troubled, for the beach is close at
hand. You need only to deliver your strife,
to the tranquility of the beach and it shall
be exercised from you.
When you go from this beach...leave with
the peace that you have found here.'
I Am The Beach...
As we walked along the beach, crashing waves
thundered in our ears and a light, salted mist,
dampened our lips.
The sun began to set and the voice of the beach,
traveled across the ocean waves.
'I am the beach, and here you shall find peace.
I am the beach, here you shall find love.
In this domain, my beach, the answers you
search for, could very well be found here.
For at this beach, there is much,
that has been revealed.
The sparkled, white grains of sand, that blanket
this beach, has been a bed of comfort, to many.
Pause, as you come upon this beach, and listen
to the symphony of waves and the chorus of
birds, singing their song, as they glide in the wind.
Feel the power of this beach, as it seems to
renew your inner being. You need not question
the beach and its mystical powers. For as
millions before you have found, the beach...
and its magical transference to one...have
existed, since the beginning of time.
Be not troubled, for the beach is close at
hand. You need only to deliver your strife,
to the tranquility of the beach and it shall
be exercised from you.
When you go from this beach...leave with
the peace that you have found here.'
Under A Blanket Of Stars...
As we walked along the beach, crashing waves
thundered in our ears and a light, salted mist,
dampened our lips.
The sun began to set and the voice of the beach,
traveled across the ocean waves.
'I am the beach, and here you shall find peace.
I am the beach, here you shall find love.
In this domain, my beach, the answers you
search for, could very well be found here.
For at this beach, there is much,
that has been revealed.
The sparkled, white grains of sand, that blanket
this beach, has been a bed of comfort, to many.
Pause, as you come upon this beach, and listen
to the symphony of waves and the chorus of
birds, singing their song, as they glide in the wind.
Feel the power of this beach, as it seems to
renew your inner being. You need not question
the beach and its mystical powers. For as
millions before you have found, the beach...
and its magical transference to one...have
existed, since the beginning of time.
Be not troubled, for the beach is close at
hand. You need only to deliver your strife,
to the tranquility of the beach and it shall
be exercised from you.
When you go from this beach...leave with
the peace that you have found here.'
Under A Blanket Of Stars
As we walked along the beach, crashing waves
thundered in our ears and a light, salted mist,
dampened our lips.
The sun began to set and the voice of the beach,
traveled across the ocean waves.
'I am the beach, and here you shall find peace.
I am the beach, here you shall find love.
In this domain, my beach, the answers you
search for, could very well be found here.
For at this beach, there is much,
that has been revealed.
The sparkled, white grains of sand, that blanket
this beach, has been a bed of comfort, to many.
Pause, as you come upon this beach, and listen
to the symphony of waves and the chorus of
birds, singing their song, as they glide in the wind.
Feel the power of this beach, as it seems to
renew your inner being. You need not question
the beach and its mystical powers. For as
millions before you have found, the beach...
and its magical transference to one...have
existed, since the beginning of time.
Be not troubled, for the beach is close at
hand. You need only to deliver your strife,
to the tranquility of the beach and it shall
be exercised from you.
When you go from this beach...leave with
the peace that you have found here.'
Summer Snapshot
High up in the sky, the sun is shining.
Outside restaurants, people are dining.
Over the sea, sailboats are dashing.
Against the shore, waves are crashing.
Up in the sky, seagulls are screeching.
Up to the sun, flowers are reaching.
In the park, children are playing.
In the breeze, branches are swaying.
From car windows, music is blaring.
More of their bodies, people are bearing.
Down at the beach, people are bathing:
A nice, healthy tan, they are all craving.
Through the sky, birds are flying.
On the clothesline, washing is drying.
Along the roads, cars are queuing.
In bed, at night, people are stewing.
To peoples' bodies, clothes are sticking.
Frozen ice lollies, children are licking.
Their garden borders, people are weeding.
Ducks, on the river, children are feeding.
Strawberries and cream, people are eating.
Friends, for a drink, people are meeting.
In their back gardens, people are sitting.
Through the air, butterflies are flitting.
Over at Wimbledon, there is tennis.
Of themselves, wasps make a menace.
Ice cold drinks, people are sipping,
In the playground, girls are skipping.
People eat chips with fish in crisp batter.
Over at Henley, there is a Royal Regatta.
Of our summer, when the weather is hot,
The above, make up merely a snapshot.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sand Storm
We make our way along Bournemouth prom,
To a favourite pub of ours, for a lazy late lunch.
But long before we ever make it that far along,
Our mouths fill with sand, on which we crunch.
The sand from the beach is being blown by the wind.
We watch it as we walk along the almost endless prom.
Despite having to battle through the gusting gale,
It’s quite a novelty to see the sand being blown along.
The fine granules form ever moving designs.
Many an interesting pattern the sand makes.
As it’s perpetually blown this way and that,
It twists and turns and twirls, just like snakes.
The sand has collected in patches here and there,
And some of them really are pretty deep.
Rather than walking along the tarmac prom,
We could almost be walking along the actual beach!
As I walk through the large patches of sand,
The granules collect in both of my shoes.
But I walk through patch after patch en route:
I don’t mind, as, me, it does quite amuse.
The wind whips the sand up into a frenzy.
It’s in my mouth, my eyes and in my hair.
Sand is being blown all over the place.
In fact, it seems to be almost everywhere!
I happen to place my hand on the back of my neck,
And I can feel sand there, just below my head.
The next morning, when I get up and look,
There are grains of sand near the foot of my bed!
It was really nice to have a small reminder
Of our very enjoyable, but tiring, day out.
I do so love going down to Bournemouth.
We’ll be back there soon without a doubt!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Memories Of The Beach
We went to the beach to get wind in our hair
to stand on the sand and simply to stare.
To let the surf tickle toes and dampen our clothes
as we played 'run away'
from the wavelets at play.
We went to the beach to climb on the rocks
find cool shallow pools where we'd take of our socks,
and peer in the waters to see what we might find
that the waves of the sea,
had last left behind.
We went to the beach to find coloured shells
the kind that when placed to our ears
make the sound of the ocean appear,
and gathered rocks that we never would find
in the places we walked,
for most of the time.
We went to the beach and all that, we did find
and the smell of the salt refreshed our tired minds.
I'll never forget the laughter and sounds
and the freedom to run,
on that wet sandy ground.
We went to the beach my family and I
and there we were one,
with the ocean, the beach, and the sky.
poem by David Taylor
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A Walk By The Water
As the thick foam disperses, it looks as though
A section of sea has been covered with white lace.
As one lot of water withdraws from the shore,
With another wave of water, it is rapidly replaced.
Along the shore, feeling lonely and abandoned,
Are rows of beach huts, and a few wooden boats;
Their once brightly coloured, perfect paintwork,
Is now peeling, and looks in need of a new coat.
The rows of beach huts, which I pass by,
Are painted colours of every possible hue.
The huts are unique: no two are the same;
There is purple, peach, and pale pink too.
Dozens of dogs race around the deserted beach;
Each of them seems to have such endless energy.
Dogs dart around here, there, and everywhere,
Barking loudly with joy, now that they're free.
Amusement arcades are closed for the season.
Only a handful of beach cafes are open for trade;
During the summer months, they make much money,
But, come the winter, and their business quickly fades.
Brightly coloured buoys bob about in the bolshy ocean;
Of impending danger, they warn any approaching ships.
I walk into the freezing wind, which blows into my face;
My cheeks are like ice to touch, and I have tingling lips.
Deep patches of displaced sand from the beach,
Now softly cushion my ever slowing, tired tread.
On the tarmac, my feet rhythmically Tap! Tap! Tap!
But on the sand, the sound is suddenly cut stone dead.
Before I make my way back up in to the town,
I face towards the sea to capture one last thought;
It is then that I spot a young man on the beach,
Being photographed in nothing but his shorts!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Me, My Dog, And The Beach
To the beach, my dog and I run,
Play catch frisbees, just for fun.
Umbrella's to block the sun,
Waves crash upon the sand.
My dog chases gulls that try to land. Sky so blue, sand so white,
My dog and I, were up at daylight.
Winds are warm and blowing slight,
Ocean sprays, dog strays,
Sand blows, through our toes. It gets cool, the sun goes down,
My dog and I, head back to town.
It's time we leave the beach to rest.
After all, we were just a guest.
All the birds have flown away.
We will come back, another day.
Just me and my dog, to play.
poem by Karen Curcio
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Mid-Winter Dream
You are gone
From where my feet
Once stood
Shining sand torn and devoured
By crashing angry waves
Of a churning sea...
Icicles hang daintily from stark brown
Crippled stump arms
Left behind naked
My fear gathers
With dust-enveloping droplets
In the gray sky of storm,
My loss overhangs
A deep and restless beach
Where memories of quiet beach lying
Are washed away with Time’s smooth pebbles
I picked from your clear waters
Your anger perplexes me.
Perhaps your fear of immobilizing ice
Releases within you
A cold stream of rebellion
And you pick apart
The swimming pools and tennis courts
You hate upon your beaches
Leaving twisted steel
And broken concrete frames
As a silent reminder...
Perhaps you fear a loss
Of warm evening dreams
And sunny children's splashing feet
Wading in calm-water days
As I slowly dread the loss of you
poem by E.e. Wilholt
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Walking the river
You looked into the eye
of that white hot sun
and found something there
that spoke to your soul,
in your heart and mind
you heard a voice
and thought about the Creator
of the river, sun and sky
and left your car
at the river’s edge
and into the water you went.
That big black great loving dog
was with you
and it was just river and sun
and you walked on
into the water
over boulders, stumbling
over rocks
barefoot and naked
walked through pools
and felt like Eve
and for a time were free
from the burdens of life.
At first your hound
splashed out in front
but later like a shadow
was bound to you,
protecting, guarding
and caring
with wide open brown eyes,
sharp white fangs
and it didn’t understand
where you were going
but loved you more
than to bother about that
or food or heat.
At times it barked
and sometimes it growled,
but nobody dared to get near
and while the shadows draw out
you walked on
right into the night
looking up at the bright stars
and followed the full moon
rising up big and yellow
in that dark sky.
l’Envoi
You heard that river’s song
and just walked on
catching the splashing
and the murmur
over shelves of rock
into some ponds
and somehow during the next day
people found you
who had commonsense
and was sensible
and they helped you
and took care of your dog
and your feet were pierced,
had some blisters
and there were scratches
on your legs
and still the river flows
on to somewhere
and now you are back here.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Seaside Visitation
Your grandchildren
play in the sea,
splashing and screaming
as the water chills.
You watch as you sit
on the stone wall,
your feet on the sand.
Anny stands staring out
at the broad horizon,
her ghostly hand
above her brow
to keep out
the sun’s bright glare,
her small phantom feet
touching the beach,
far from the water’s reach.
She hears the playful screams,
and ventures on down
between the crowds
who occupy the sands
with chairs and towels
and windbreaker walls.
She waits and gazes
at your grandchildren’s play,
her blonde hair and bow
touched by the sun’s glow.
You watch her as stands there
rooted in the sands,
knowing none see her
as you do now, her hands
resting behind her back,
seemingly in deep thought,
she wanders along the beach,
her eyes taking in
the seaside show,
her profile captured
by the sun’s warm kiss.
She turns and looks at you,
knowing that you see her there,
smiling she waves a hand,
then she’s gone from sight,
as once before
in Auschwitz’s hold she went.
Nothing now but the sea sound
and grandchildren’s laughter
and sea air and Anny’s scent.
poem by Terry Collett
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Still Surfin
He used to ride the sidewalks in a landlocked town
A solitary surfer still he got around
He had his favorite spots now
Where the best rides could be found
With posters on his wall from surfer magazine
His room looked like a shrine to the surfin scene
Go to hawaii out of high school was his big time college dream
(thats where the girls are)
Did you ever wonder what happened to surfer joe
He up and took a ? ? ? down to mexico
With a pretty senorita we both used to know
You can see him catch a wave in the mornin light
And sometimes you can find him on his board at night
A silouette on water as the sun dips outta sight
Hes still surfin
(still surfin)
Hes still surfin
(still surfin)
Youll catch him on a wave on his way to class
Then be back there after school [til his daylight pass? ? ? ]
Hes still surfin
(still surfin)
Hes still surfin
(still surfin)
Surfers always love them summer days
With a board in the water rollin with the waves
Hes still surfin
Hes always been a surfer since the early days
Spendin the summer searchin for that perfect wave
He and his surfin senorita never seem to age
He doesnt do a whole lot with his law degree
They thought about a major oceanography
But he does a lot of thinkin bout how to save the sea
(thats where the waves are)
Things up north were gettin kinda out of hand
So he got a break to see the ride on the sand
With his little mama seated in a surfers never never land
You can see him catch a wave in the mornin light
And sometimes you can find him on his board at night
A silouette on water as the sun dips outta sight
Hes still surfin
(still surfin)
Hes still surfin
(still surfin)
Youll catch him on a wave on his way to class
Then be back there after school [til his daylight pass? ? ? ]
Hes still surfin
(still surfin)
Hes still surfin
(still surfin)
Surfers always love them summer days
With a board in the water rollin with the waves
Hes still surfin
In the mornin light he still surfin
On his board at night hes still surfin
In the summer days hes still surfin
Rollin with the waves hes still surfin
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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