Platform
PLATFORM
On guano-flecked ledge,
a tern discerns my intent.
An eye-level view
shows crazy-paved inside curls
of waves in white-edged aqua.
UNDERFOOT
In silent white dunes, soft spherical grains of quartz sand squeak.
On the beach, warm sea-tumbled pebbles whinge. Feet play the substrate.
But silt's scream is ultrasonic and toes feel the mud flats shiver.
CAPE WALK
A gravel path threads
green quilted scatter-cushions.
Heathland on the cliff.
Nature's herbaceous border
high above the lacquered sea.
poem by Diane Hine
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sandpiper
The roaring alongside he takes for granted,
and that every so often the world is bound to shake.
He runs, he runs to the south, finical, awkward,
in a state of controlled panic, a student of Blake.
The beach hisses like fat. On his left, a sheet
of interrupting water comes and goes
and glazes over his dark and brittle feet.
He runs, he runs straight through it, watching his toes.
- Watching, rather, the spaces of sand between them
where (no detail too small) the Atlantic drains
rapidly backwards and downwards. As he runs,
he stares at the dragging grains.
The world is a mist. And then the world is
minute and vast and clear. The tide
is higher or lower. He couldn't tell you which.
His beak is focussed; he is preoccupied,
looking for something, something, something.
Poor bird, he is obsessed!
The millions of grains are black, white, tan, and gray
mixed with quartz grains, rose and amethyst.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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.'
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.'
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.'
Pondering Mariner
Beneath golden sun, hanging high,
in endless indigo heaven.
At the water’s edge, shoeless, I meandered.
In wavelets lapping peacefully, on white sand beach.
With slight interest I watched, silent tern,
soar without effort, ‘cross blue expanse.
Into emerald green, of tranquil deep.
Distant horizon melded.
As silent tern glided o’er, dancing, rolling whitecap.
On unseen, sirocco’s flows, my thoughts traveled.
Their course set, to port so far.
To sojourn awhile, with lover pining there.
Remembering her beauty, shining, tearfilled eyes.
Watching her fade, as the wake left behind.
To be messenger, I urge my thoughts.
Convey to her, she longs not in vain.
The seduction of this beach,
blue skies, rolling sea, warm sun.
To misty blur, pale, as reflections,
of her loveliness, invade my being.
Walking this beach, I now turn back,
make my way to yonder craft.
That with patience, bides.
To set sail again, return to that port so far.
Once again, impatiently I will endure.
Neptune’s moods, calm waters, raging seas.
From atop high mast, with glass I scan.
For land’s end, homeport, and lover waiting, I search.
23Oct09
poem by Kurt Hearth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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White on Green
White on green
Or is it green on white?
Surprise mosaic of half melted snow
Offers unexpected beauty
Eat your heart out
You abstract artists.
Bare branches weave
Delicate lace
Over aqua skies I walk
To where my dead children lie
And remember their names
That only I ever breathed
See how green shoots grow
Beneath the snow
Is it green on white
Or white on green?
Eat your heart out
You abstract artists
Random nature
Says it all so much better.
poem by Anita Wisniewska
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Peaceful nights
sleeping shut eye quiet nights dreaming of peacful places on a beach all alone waves crash on the beach taking a walk the hot smooth sand in betwin my toes waking up to the sound of my alarm clock beeeeeping brings me back to the real world
poem by Lydensie white
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Pre-Existence
I laid me down upon the shore
And dreamed a little space;
I heard the great waves break and roar;
The sun was on my face.
My idle hands and fingers brown
Played with the pebbles grey;
The waves came up, the waves went down,
Most thundering and gay.
The pebbles, they were smooth and round
And warm upon my hands,
Like little people I had found
Sitting among the sands.
The grains of sands so shining-small
Soft through my fingers ran;
The sun shone down upon it all,
And so my dream began:
How all of this had been before;
How ages far away
I lay on some forgotten shore
As here I lie to-day.
The waves came shining up the sands,
As here to-day they shine;
And in my pre-pelasgian hands
The sand was warm and fine.
I have forgotten whence I came,
Or what my home might be,
Or by what strange and savage name
I called that thundering sea.
I only know the sun shone down
As still it shines to-day,
And in my fingers long and brown
The little pebbles lay.
poem by Frances Darwin Cornford
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Picture Poem #141 (From, This is my Wasteland)
High waves
of riding dolphins
the curly hues
tossed on
to brown white
soft beach sand
boundaries extending
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Constantly Waves Toss And Fling (Persian / Rubiyat Quatrains)
Constantly waves toss and fling,
with water and sand are covering
the outstretched white shell filled beach
as more and more tiny grains they bring
and this process is present night and day,
as waters roll out in the bay
while seagulls sandpipers peck around
screech run and play.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Pigeons
ODALISQUES, odalisques,
Treading the pavement
With feet pomegranate-stained:
We bartered for, bought you
Back in the years
Ah, then we knew you,
Odalisques, odalisques,
Treading the pavement
With feet pomegranate-stained!
Queens of the air
Aithra, lole,
Eos and Auge,
Taking new beauty
From the sun's evening brightness,
Gyring in light
As nymphs play in waters
Aithra, lole,
Eos and Auge!
Then down on our doorsteps,
Gretchen and Dora. . . .
II
Pigeons that have flown down from the courts behind the orchards! Pigeons that run along the beach to take sand into your crops! What contrast is between you, birds of a rare stock, and the waves that know only the buccaneer sea-gulls and the sand-marten emigrants! And what contrast is between your momentary wildness here and your graces in the courtyards beyond the orchards!
You rise up and fly out five wave lengths from the beach. And now a strange element is under you the green, tumbling, untried sea. With that half-remembered element below you, you think, maybe, of rocky breeding-places and strong mates. Bravely
you hang above the untried, alluring sea just five wave-lengths out!
You remind us of the ladies who came down to the gypsy carts that were on the beach yesterday, and swore they would take to the gypsy ways!
And now you run along by the waves, taking more grains of sand into your crops!
A wave-break startles you. You take to your wings again. Now you see the dove-cotes beyond the orchards, and you fly towards them.
And all night long you will hear the sea breaking, and you will dream, maybe, in the dove-cotes, of strong mates and rocky breeding places.
At dawn you will fly down to the beach again, run along the hard sand, take grains into your crops, and fly five wavelengths
from the beach.
The sand-martens will have left their holes, and you will see them gathered in flocks on the sand-heights, the dusky gypsies.
And you will not notice when they have departed, going without after-thoughts, going over that green, alluring element, the sea.
Pigeons that run along the beach, taking sand into your crops!
poem by Padraic Colum
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You Are Always Electrifying
by the simple touch of your fingers
accidental intimacy like bumping on the street
and then quickly
parting ways like you don't know me and i do not know you
this pretense of strength
of white cranes suddenly in motion to the skies
as i clap my hands near the lushing cogon grass
oh they fly, oh they fly like white pebbles thrown to the sea
and then they are gone
i get electrified the moment i see you
(how can i ever tell you about
this secret that grows like a cancerous mole on my face?)
sizzling simply sizzling this feeling
of loving with the loved one not knowing anything
why flowers bloom and then die
why the leaves are falling
the white cranes in the rice fields this June
oh how they flap and fly like white pebbles thrown to the sea
perfect flight of silent love
my eyes are so delighted
my heart sings
it has never known how to scream
in silence i gaze at you and then you walk away
the street where you walk narrows down like a throat choking
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In A Time Of Dearth
Before me,
On either side of me,
I see sand.
If I turn the corner of my house,
I see sand,
Long, brown
Lines and levels of flat
Sand.
If I could only see a caravan
Heave over the edge of it:
The camels wobbling and swaying,
Stepping like ostriches,
With rocking palanquins
Whose curtains conceal
Languors and faintnesses,
Muslins tossed aside,
And a disorder of cushions.
The swinging curtains would pique and solace me.
But I only see sand,
Long, brown sand -
Sand.
If I could only see a herd of Arab horses
Galloping,
Their manes and tails pulled straight
By the speed of their going;
Their bodies sleek and round
Like bellying sails.
They would beat the sand with their fore feet,
And scatter it with their hind feet,
So that it whirled in a cloud of orange,
And the sun through it
Was clip-edged, without rays, and dun.
But I only see sand,
Long, brown, hot sand -
Sand.
If I could only see a mirage,
Blue-white at the horizon,
With palm-trees about it;
Tall, windless palm-trees, grouped about a-glitter.
If I could strain toward it,
And think of the water creeping round my ankles,
Tickling under my knees,
Leeching up my sides,
Spreading over my back.
But I only feel the grinding beneath my feet.
And I only see sand,
Long, dry sand,
Scorching sand -
Sand.
If a sand-storm would only come
And spit against my windows,
Snapping upon them, and ringing their vibrations;
Swirling over the roof;
Seeping under the door-jamb;
Suffocating me and making me struggle for air.
But I only see sand -
Sand lying dead in the sun.
Lines and lines of sand -
Sand.
I will paste newspapers over the windows to shut out the sand;
I will fit them into one another, and fasten the corners.
Then I will strike matches
And read of politics and murders and festivals
Three years old.
But I shall not see the sand any more,
And I can read
While my matches last.
poem by Amy Lowell
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On The Dunes
Drive along the sea
Far from the citys twitch and smoke
To a misty beach
Thats where my life became a joke
On the dunes
On the dunes
(became a joke on the dunes)
Where rents are high
And seabirds cry
On the dunes
As you spoke you must have known
It was a kind of homicide
I stood and watched my happiness
Drift outwards with the tide
On the dunes
On the dunes
(homicide on the dunes)
It wasnt fair
Its brutal there
On the dunes
Pretty boats
Sweeping along the shore
In the faltering light
Pretty women
With their lovers by their side
Its like an awful dream
I have most every night
In the summer all the swells
Join in the search for sun and sand
For me its just a joyless place
Where this loneliness began
On the dunes
On the dunes
(loneliness on the dunes)
Im pretty tough
But the wind is rough
On the dunes
song performed by by Steely Dan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I loved all the love away
I loved all the love away
Left with mine prodigal hand
Mine heart through my fingers play
To soft white sensual sand
In a desert of sheer famine
Bereft of love and love's sea
I scavenge the ground and examine
The desert of what's left of me
Nothing but white sand and shore
Where the moon tide's waves
move rippled sand of desert galore
to taunt and with will depraves
The love I need, but shows the love I had
Lost in the desert delusional I'm utterly mad…
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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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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Rainy beach times
Children playing on a beach,
Nowhere to hide nowhere to seek,
Using there minds to play there games,
Running In the sand on a rainy day,
It dose not matter if the sun doesn't shine,
If the wind blows hard and the sands not dry,
There having fun so that's just fine,
Playing on a beach at two, three, and five,
With sand in there shoes and between there toes,
And wind swept hair and soggy clothes,
They feel no cold only time for fun
The moaning starts when they wet there bum,
It must look like desert to someone so young,
Who's two foot high and full of fun,
What an adventure it must be,
Playing in the sand and feeling free,
I can't remember ever being that high,
But we all must have though's of rainy beach times,
So as I stand here now alone on the beach,
Watching them play no hide and seek,
Spending this moment through children's eyes,
As they have there adventure and a rainy beach times.
Kevin Glenn
29-08-2011
poem by Kevin Glenn
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6 o'clock in the morning at KNAS gym
i sit on the tenth stair of this public gym
of this university overlooking an oval
a field of green grass
circled by this road of sand and gravel
and muddy on some occasional rains
three men all covered, head and body and feet
from a distance carry the sprayers
on their backs, the usual pesticide
to kill the army worms that attack the rice plants
the air has turned poisonous, i can see the killer mist
around them as they keep on pumping the tubes at their backs
i ponder on the significance of men
poisoning its atmosphere, adulterating the freshest air in the morning
that nature has freely given
some white herons come flying on some green spots of the field
perhaps eating the worms and bugs killed by the poisoned droplets
i guess with the poisoned worms for their diet
i have read sometime
their eggs will turn off-white, and the shells are weakened
and the chicks feed by their poisoned blood
may not even grow to be stronger birds
some eggs will not experience hatching and the white herons
cannot do a thing about their misery
some dogs too come by perhaps curious about the smell of the
morning air,
a black dog runs around the oval, a white dog stays lying
on one of the manmade dikes
the poisoning takes about an hour and when it is over
the men take of their clothes and wipe their bodies
on the same clothes
some of them i heard have suffered diseases
like bloated livers and soft bones and they die without having
seen the right doctors,
they are poor hired workers of this college
i look around me, the sun finally comes out
it is still a very fine day i suppose, the mist is gone, the rice plants
are greener than ever,
and then i take my usual walk, thinking again,
for all that men do, poisoning and destroying nature,
will there be revenge? retaliation? repercussion?
i am crazy. How can nature ever speak?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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