Torquay
The tide is now far out of reach, of the beach,
And so there are miles of sand, a sight so grand,
A lighthouse takes a stand, long time unmanned,
While seagulls veer and fly inland, up the strand.
Boats are following the tide, and smoothly glide,
And salty winds beat the distant waves, to the caves.
And I sit here on weathered rocks, without my socks,
Looking out across the sea, in a warm Torquay.
Along the curving promenade, the Med's displayed,
With luscious palms of green, which set the scene.
And rising up behind the bay, a strange jumbled array,
Of holiday apartments, most are let, with a kitchenette.
Here with their lists of guarantees, row's of neat, clean B & B's
Are waiting for rooms to be vacated, ready for those awaited,
With no fixed times for meals, for that is what appeals
To the weekly and fortnightly partakers, and early wakers.
And here I am dangling my toes, and writing some prose.
A better life than this, could not exist, it is sheer bliss.
But with the tide just on the turn, I think I'll now adjourn,
To tea and mouth-watering cakes, which Grandma makes.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Related quotes
The Salty Sea
Oh, how I love the salty sea,
And if it were up to me,
I would stay there night and day,
While felling it's soft, sweet spray.
I would sit on the salty sea shore,
Watching the seagulls dip and soar.
I would sit on the sand, soft and white,
And stay 'till the sun was out of sight.
When the sea tide is low,
I will stay while it tickles my toes.
When the sea tide is high,
I will not bid it good-bye.
Oh, how I love the salty sea,
I wish it belonged just to me.
If I could hold my breathe forever,
I would never move, never!
So, on the sand I would lay,
And wait for the tide to take me away...
Oh, how I love the sea!
poem by Layla Stone
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Down By The Sea
Where the tumbling frothing surf,
Meets the sand dunes' spiky turf,
And daring seagulls dive and screech,
Above the sunny sandy beach,
Inventive children with bucket and spade,
Run down from the esplanade.
Lobster pots are drawn up to dry,
Beneath the blue and breezy sky,
And seaweed waiting for the tide,
Lies still, with nowhere else to hide,
And the tangy, salty languid air,
Makes one want to stand and stare.
A crab who liked the noonday heat,
Makes a speedy fast retreat,
As all his space has been invaded,
By humans looking for a shaded
Place to sit, and rest, and play,
On this hot shifting sand, today.
Then wafting gentle winds whose kiss,
Anoint our bodies with cooling bliss,
As through the hours of burning sun,
We try to get our tans well done.
They, nowhere else, could better be,
Than on the shore, down by the sea.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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A Stranger On The Shore
The waves rush up around my feet
from an early morning tide.
Seagulls bob up and down
resting on the water
waiting patiently
for the underlining currents
to carry their breakfast in.
The sky is dark and cloudy
with the looks of an approaching storm.
I stand here as an observer
as life goes on around.
A stranger on the shore
waiting here for no one,
breathing in the fresh salt air
filled with ecstasy at all that I see.
The regal white crowned waves
dancing momentarily around my feet.
They say the world is your oyster
and the pearl is all you see.
From my lonely vigil,
I gather wisdom in
as I stand alone at each morning tide
a stranger on the shore.
poem by David Harris
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A Soul By The Sea
Walking barefoot on the beach,
Collecting shells within my reach.
The sun shines brightly upon the sea
And I’ve never felt so free.
Breathing in the salty air,
Calm, serene, not a single care.
There is no better remedy
Than being by the soulful sea.
Children’s castles in the sand,
Lovers walking hand in hand.
An atmosphere of serenity
For all the souls beside the sea.
Seagulls soaring way up high,
Yachts and fishing boats sailing by.
I’m where my soul was meant to be;
Overlooking the deep blue sea.
The tide comes in, the waves leap high
And splash the rocks that once were dry.
My heart and soul sing with such glee
When I feel the power of the sea.
My spirit was born by the seaside
And here forever it will reside,
For I never feel so happy and free
As when my soul is by the sea.
© 9th June 2007
poem by Melanie Ann Calvert
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SOMNAMBULISM
I
Night is above me,
And Night is above the night.
The sea is beside me soughing, or is still.
The earth as a somnambulist moves on
In a strange sleep ...
A sea-bird cries.
And the cry wakes in me
Dim, dead sea-folk, my sires—
Who more than myself are me.
Who sat on their beach long nights ago and saw
The sea in its silence;
And cursed it or implored;
Or with the Cross defied;
Then on the morrow in their boats went down.
II
Night is above me ...
And Night is above the night.
Rocks are about me, and, beyond, the sand ...
And the low reluctant tide,
That rushes back to ebb a last farewell
To the flotsam borne so long upon its breast.
Rocks ... But the tide is out,
And the slime lies naked, like a thing ashamed
That has no hiding-place.
And the sea-bird hushes—
The bird and all far cries within my blood—
And earth as a somnambulist moves on.
poem by Cale Young Rice from Sea Poems (1921)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Rye
Seagulls in the church tower calmly nest undeterred,
Though willfully her bells clang the eleventh hour.
Outside another, startled, launches itself from
A weathered crenulation, swoops through streets toward
The old school; rising up, decides to turn and scour
The bay. Tired fishing boats and dinghies tilt, conform
As morning tide repents, drags in the days sad news,
Lapping confessions against hulls, heard by no one.
This small fishing town’s gentle habit continues.
The seagull circles, heading out over tide worn
Coastlines, growing faint like ash against cloudy sky.
Further down the coast, at Fairlight Cove, gasping, drenched,
A man climbs the cliff’s steps too weak to speak or cry,
Bears news; his friends still out there, miles from shore, and drowned.
poem by Neil Young
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My Boy Jack
1914-1918
'Have you news of my boy Jack?'
Not this tide.
'When d'you think that he'll come back?'
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.
'Has anyone else had word of him?'
Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing and this tide.
'Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?'
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind-
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.
Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Have You News of my Boy Jack?
'Have you news of my boy Jack?'
Not this tide.
'When d'you think that he'll come back?'
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.
'Has anyone else had word of him?'
Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing and this tide.
'Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?'
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind-
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.
Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Sand Castles
Sand castles on the beach,
but still far out of reach
of the encroaching waves
which wash into the caves
like an unwelcome leach.
The tide will wash it away.
Eden will passionately sway
to the rhythm of the wind.
A moment never to be rescind.
Build the castles anyway.
The sand will always be
just sand and infinitely free.
Whether we use it or not,
it will eventually come to naught,
but the memories remain with me.
poem by Suzette Crous
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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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Waiting for you
Waiting for you
Waiting by the strand of the sea, the sand
cold and wet, the moon in silence guards my path,
the wait is tedious and long for I feel is not in vain,
the tide was rising in a rather slow motion, I could
smell the scent of the ocean, a scent I can't see.
Countless of stars in the sky each with a unique gallant,
the air fondly indulged my face, and a tranquil
feeling drew me to a state of peace, a cadence voice
singing like angels in the wind. A thousand years may
pass me by, counting the grains of sand, endless till
I fade away with them, I'll walk the shore with freezing
toes, with no hands to hold me warm. I'm still here near
the moon, near the waves that call your name,
they hear my heart, they keep the secret I pour in tears,
I wait here still and weary with my head up with a
little left of my happy heart…
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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Somewhere Precious
A sun bleached fence facing the sea.
Sand dunes, sea grass, on windblown shore.
Seagulls hovering, wings spread wide,
calling as they’ve done times before.
A welcome break from hard routine.
A pressure gone, a restful spell.
Sitting with backs against the slats,
of this stockade, with fears to quell.
When last we surveyed the blue sea,
the tide was laundering the sands.
As up the beach we watched it race,
and touched its ripples with our hands.
Cool salty air invades weak lungs,
giving us a refreshing lift.
With tickling grains between our toes,
our relaxed minds begin to drift.
The water surging to and fro,
Gives a pleasant hypnotic sound.
Shingle, shale, rocks and cliffs that soar,
is somewhere precious that we’ve found.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Weekend away
The weekend we will go
past Gordonsbay
to Rooiels
and when the morning sun
just shows its head
and appear like a round ball
we will pick up circular green shells
on the beach
and stand alone
next to the mighty ocean
and you will put your fingers
right through one
and turn it round and around
and on the rocks
we will drink
cups of Mega coffee
while the tide goes out
and waves hit spitting
over the brown rocks.
When the sun is up
we will drive to Gordonsbay
to get a take away meal
somewhere there
and you will look
at the forsaken phantom house
and I will tell you
stories of lost love
and people finding each other
even after being dead
and at the Strand
we will rollick
and throw Frisbee
and will try and sent
your kite up
and that weekend
will last a lifetime
where we rent a room
at a guesthouse
next to the sea.
poem by Gert Strydom
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We walked on the beach
We walked on the beach
my shadow and I.
Rocks protruded
out of the sand
and a big ship passed by.
The tide was high
and the angry sea crashed
and slapped spray
upon the rocks.
a Strong wind scratched
me with buckets full of sand
and I wondered what had happened
to a perfect day at the beach,
but later the wind died down.
a Single gull surfed the air
and suddenly it wasn’t there
and only the green sea,
the white-hot sun,
surf crashing on the beach
and I remained.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Love Letters
As
children
we played
on the
beach.
gathering
shells
for our
collections.
Leaving
love
let ters
in the
sand.
the tide
rushed
in
many times
lately
I returned
seeking
the
letters.
for some
reason
they could
not be
found.
the beach
a blank
slate.
an angry
tide had
rushed in
destroying
our love
letters.
forever
lost in
the sand.
poem by Heather Burns
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Natural Science
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
I. tide pools
When the ebbing tide retreats
Along the rocky shoreline
It leaves a trail of tidal pools
In a short-lived galaxy
Each microcosmic planet
A complete society
A simple kind mirror
To reflect upon our own
All the busy little creatures
Chasing out their destinies
Living in their pools
They soon forget about the sea...
Wheels within wheels
In a spiral array
A pattern so grand
And complex
Time after time
We lose sight of the way
Our causes cant see
Their effects
Ii. hyperspace
A quantum leap forward
In time and in space
The universe learned to expand
The mess and the magic
Triumphant and tragic
A mechanized world, out of hand
Computerized clinic
For superior cynics
Who dance to a synthetic band
In their own image
Their world is fashioned ---
No wonder they dont understand
Wheels within wheels
In a spiral array
A pattern so grand
And complex
Time after time
We lose sight of the way
Our causes cant see
Their effects
Iii. permanent waves
Science, like nature
Must also be tamed
With a view towards its preservation
Given the same
State of integrity
It will surely serve us well
Art as expression ---
Not as market campaigns
Will still capture our imaginations
Given the same
State of integrity
It will surely help us along
The most endangered species ---
The honest man
Will still survive annihilation
Forming a world ---
State of integrity
Sensitive, open, and strong
Wave after wave
Will flow with the tide
And bury the world as it does
Tide after tide
Will flow and recede
Leaving life to go on
As it was...
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Boats A Bobbing
I’m sitting on the jetty, feet dangling o’er the sea,
A view that’s so breathtaking, that it’s enveloped me.
The sunlight on the water, with facets shining bright.
I could sit forever absorbing this wondrous sight.
The little boats a bobbing out on the restless brine,
Their sails of rainbow colours are beautiful and fine.
Wind is gently blowing as they navigate to shore,
At one with the ocean, such adventuring in store.
I’m standing on the headland watching seagulls streak by,
There’s squawking and diving as they pulsate through the sky.
Always so hungry, forever searching for their meal,
No matter who’s food tempts them, they are ready to steal.
I’m resting on a boulder on the top of the cliffs.
Two rowing boats are proceeding I think they are skiffs.
Chasing to beat each other with their single man crew,
There is so much to observe, Ah! here comes a canoe.
A two-masted vessel, fore-and-aft rigged, a smart ketch
Sails into harbour seen above yellow broom and vetch.
Vibrant in its paintwork, she gives a scene oh so grand,
With all her keen crew, she is very expertly manned.
I’m on my way home now but it has been a great day.
The sea, sand and salty wind, with warm sun and cool spray.
My sleek hair is unkempt and my book I have not read,
As comings and goings kept me occupied instead.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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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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The Song of Tigilau
The song of Tigilau the brave,
Sina's wild lover,
Who across the heaving wave
From Samoa came over:
Came over, Sina, at the setting moon!
The moon shines round and bright;
She, with her dark-eyed maidens at her side,
Watches the rising tide.
While balmy breathes the starry southern night,
While languid heaves the lazy southern tide;
The rising tide, O Sina, and the setting moon!
The night is past, is past and gone,
The moon sinks to the West,
The sea-heart beats opprest,
And Sina's passionate breast
Heaves like the sea, when the pale moon has gone,
Heaves like the passionate sea, Sina, left by the moon alone!
Silver on silver sands, the rippling waters meet --
Will he come soon?
The rippling waters kiss her delicate feet,
The rippling waters, lisping low and sweet,
Ripple with the tide,
The rising tide,
The rising tide, O Sina, and the setting moon!
He comes! -- her lover!
Tigilau, the son of Tui Viti.
Her maidens round her hover,
The rising waves her white feet cover.
O Tigilau, son of Tui Viti,
Through the mellow dusk thy proas glide,
So soon!
So soon by the rising tide,
The rising tide, my Sina, and the setting moon!
The mooring-poles are left,
The whitening waves are cleft,
By the prows of Tui Viti!
By the sharp keels of Tui Viti!
Broad is the sea, and deep,
The yellow Samoans sleep,
But they will wake and weep --
Weep in their luxurious odorous vales,
While the land breeze swells the sails
Of Tui Viti!
Tui Viti -- far upon the rising tide,
The rising tide --
The rising tide, my Sina, beneath the setting moon!
She leaps to meet him!
Her mouth to greet him
Burns at his own.
Away! To the canoes,
To the yoked war canoes!
The sea in murmurous tone
Whispers the story of their loves,
Re-echoes the story of their loves --
The story of Tui Viti,
Of Sina and Tui Viti,
By the rising tide,
The rising tide, Sina, beneath the setting moon!
She has gone!
She has fled!
Sina!
Sina, for whom the warriors decked their shining hair,
Wreathing with pearls their bosoms brown and bare,
Flinging beneath her dainty feet
Mats crimson with the feathers of the parrakeet.
Ho, Samoans! rouse your warriors full soon,
For Sina is across the rippling wave,
With Tigilau, the bold and brave.
Far, far upon the rising tide!
Far upon the rising tide!
Far upon the rising tide, Sina, beneath the setting moon.
poem by Marcus Clarke
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Bliss
Bliss
Is sitting
Relaxed in the sun
Reading a good book
Poking at family
In the jest of fun
Bliss
Is watching
A girly movie
With tissue
And pop corn
Ready to laugh and cry
At movies we love to watch
Bliss
Is sitting on a beach
Listening to the tide
As it ripples roll back and forth
In the morning and evening tide
Bliss is
Watching a waterfall
Cascade in droplets of light
That reflects off a rainbow
In its dewy wake
Bliss
Is watching your child
Breathing in their sleep
Then singing a lullaby
Late into the night
Then tucking them to sleep
Your precious little soul
Ahh Bliss what a wonderful life
poem by Kaila George
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