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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Related quotes
This Is Only The Beginning
when steps proceed to
another journey making marks on the shore
the sands are not without understanding
what is happening to the waves
and the pebbles
the waves arrive on an infinite
folding and unfolding
on such a monotonous acrobatic
of foam and air
and hush and push
coming back and going away
i have the courage to say
well, what could all these be
but always beginnings...i have not seen
any ending at all, where?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Notes 1
we are but
dusts in the wind
blown in an
instant
far and gone
we are but
the pebbles the sands
on the shore
we are but waves
coming and going
always
recurring
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ashore, ashore with the tide’s flow
Ashore, ashore with the tide’s flow
As in a sack some thing washed in:
And lay amidst the shells
And pebbles of the shore
Amidst the lapping of the waters rude
And the sea-waves’ roar.
Ashore, ashore with the tide’s flow
The sea-waves washed her in
One eye was closed the other open
And on her golden hair
Were drops of red:
Wild lapped the sea-waves and the cloud
Frowned on the sea-shore
Amidst the lapping of the waters rude
And the sea-waves’ roar.
How many winters rude have skimmed
Their frozen fingers on the white breast
Of the pale moon-lit lake a-dreaming sound
How many a Spring of green
Has come and gone:
Since that ashore, ashore with the tide’s flow
The sea-waves washed her in
Her clothes that rich were tattered were
Unseemly with the smoke of cigars
And the drunk smell of alcohol
Her look was wild and sad and raw:
Wild lapped the sea-waves and the cloud
Frowned on the sea-shore
Amidst the lapping of the waters rude
And the sea-waves’ roar.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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Sand Sculpture
the ebb and tide for once
froze as your deft hands
dealt with the sand particles
to carve my sculpture by the shore
under that hazy star light
i was sprawled on the stretching sands
and in the reflection of
your warm dreamy eyes
saw myself laid royal by the mighty sea
and regaled at your artistry
and the beauty you found in me
high on my foolish vanity
i dared to dance on the tip of waves
forgetting that i’m but a piece
of carefully arranged sand particles
the sea with its inimitable roar
came in rolling urgency and
simply pulled me into its embrace
05sep2009
19.50hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Ebb Tide
it is late now
very late dusk's
darkness has
already fallen
dark rimmed sunset
disappear last glow
dissipate be gone
fade away
this night is silk warm
flesh is sun kiss warm
breeze soft caress warm
waves wash out
footprints softly splash
suck in sink sand
feet grow cool
sunken treasure sands
slowly shape mould
harmonic planes
miniature waves wisps
whisper gliding in
shallows on seabreeze
washing out ripples
migrating miniature waves
single summer’s seascape
sifting sands
blown skip briskly
sting the windward
inward spirit eye
the night is warm
flesh is warm
breeze is warm
soul is warm
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Pain
Like an uninvited
Wind, building strength
Gathering more winds
To make a storm
Pain comes not like
A tear dropping
Pain comes in waves
In flood
But I am a very wide
Shore of sands
And paths of pebbles
But I am the sky and
Empty Space
No pain contains me
No pain destroys me
i am always unfilled.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On Calais Sands
ON Calais Sands the gray began,
Then rosy red above they gray;
The morn with many a scarlet van
Leaped, and the world was glad with May!
The little waves along the bay
Broke white upon the shelving strands;
The sea-mews flitted white as they
On Calais Sands!
On Calais Sands must man with man
Wash honor clean in blood to-day;
On spaces wet from waters wan
How white the flashing rapiers play,—
Parry, riposte! and lunge! The fray
Shifts for a while, then mournful stands
The Victor: life ebbs fast away
On Calais Sands!
On Calais Sands a little space
Of silence, then the plash and spray,
The sound of eager waves that ran
To kiss the perfumed locks astray,
To touch these lips that ne’er said “Nay,”
To dally with the helpless hands,
Till the deep sea in silence lay
On Calais Sands!
Between the lilac and the may
She waits her love from alien lands;
Her love is colder than the clay
On Calais Sands!
poem by Andrew Lang
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One Hundred Ripples
One hundred ripples I mark today
One hundred steps along my way
One hundred steps lead to the pond
One hundred trees there do surround
One hundred birds nesting among the trees
One hundred bees filling the air with these
One hundred bees buzzing about in the air
One hundred flowers are pollinating there
One hundred flowers provide the aromas sweet
For one hundred bouquets given to lovers as treat
One hundred lovers walk the winding pathway
One hundred times to find romance there each day
One hundred times they will reach to explore
One hundred pebbles found along the pond shore
One hundred pebbles carry wishes through the air
One hundred ripples on surface creating there
One hundred ripples then spreading out will begin
One hundred waves soon lapping at the shore again
One hundred waves providing the means for
One hundred more pebbles to reach the shore
One hundred pebbles scatter along the pathway
One hundred steps retraced at the end of the day
One hundred small steps... this latest poem was conceived to denote
One hundred little ripples... spreading from 100 poems I wrote
poem by Mary Havran
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To A Young Man On His Maiden Voyage At Poetry
i am confronted with a very long
and wide shore
filled with sands and pebbles
though the waves are gentle
and the clouds so blue
and the far horizon as peaceful
like a line drawn by a pen
on a piece of yellow paper
everything seems very familiar
nothing new
except you little blue bird
chirping and i am amazed
you are more beautiful
than the rest.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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at the beach in boracay February 2011
the coconut trees
line up the white sands
along the shores
of my privacy
like green umbrellas
with hands and fingers
touching no one here
but only skies
the sea is a lonely woman
with a flat blue belly
waiting for our legs and arms
in this place i am obscene
still thinking about what i should not have shared with you
i tell the sea
i am in love and i must be forgiven
but it does not believe me
the sands as usual
look at me with blank eyes
the waves are all
having their tongues-in-cheek
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pebbles & Stones
Pebbles and stones,
Of different tones.
Oval or Round.
Black or Brown.
Smooth or rough
Oddly enough,
People collect
pebbles and stones.
They like to select
the smooth and round.
They like to select,
if it's shiny and brown.
Do you like pebbles too?
Or stones in black and blue?
Theta state
A little space for my dreams
Brain waves through time
When they need to roar
An ideation during
A theta state
So thundering and warm
A little space with gleams
Shining down upon all
My dolefulnesses
Ending all my confusions
Relieving me
Of my ashed hell of compulsions.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Grains of Sand
Rolling in receding back
I watch the ocean’s waves.
Wondering what do they bring
or take away.
Reaching to my feet
some sand I scoop.
Through my fingers
those tiny grains flow.
Some so smooth
as if their journey long.
Others jagged sharp.
Had they not traveled far?
I muse to myself
What tales could they tell?
Relating their travels
carried by the seas.
if any what secrets
might they hide?
Tragedies triumphs
fair seas and foul.
Had they witnessed
great things and small?
As my mind wandered
imagination followed.
Again the waves roll in.
Now the sand is gone.
That sand I held
taken away.
Where will the seas
carry those grains?
On what other shores
will they a visit pay?
poem by Kurt Hearth
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Observations Of The Man With A Broken Heart Spending Summer In A Getaway Beach
mother finally decided
to transfer his son to another
school in the busy city
there was something that she saw
and she did not like it
the son knows it
but like her says nothing about it
all the people saw it
but no one dares to mention it
taboos are silent pebbles
gritting to the coldness of the waves
not hurting to the eyes
but the ears are intolerant
it is during summer
that the pebbles begin to wear their angry eyes
the sands borrow the glitter of diamonds
the air is humid like a frigid woman
the trees shed off leaves
and grasses begin to wilt
the sea in its silence
has told more stories than the babbling kid
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Summerday Sands
I once met a girl with the life in her hands
And we lay together on the summerday sands.
I gave her my raincoat and told her, ''lady, be good!
And we made truth together, where no one else would.
I smiled through her fingers and ran the dust through her hands ---
The hour-glass of reason on the summerday sands.
We sat as the sea caught fire.
Waited as the flames grew higher
In her eyes.
We watched the eagle born ---
Wings clipped, tail feathers shorn
But we saw him rise ---
Over summerday sands.
Came the ten oclock curfew.
She said, ''i must start my car.
Im staying with someone I met last night in a bar.
I called from my wave top ---
''at least tell me your name!
She smiled from her wheelspin
And said, ''its all the same.
I thought for a minute, jumped back on dry land ---
Left one set of footprints on the summerday sands.
I once met a girl with the life in her hands
And we lied together on the summerday sands.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A View
driftwood
with seven twigs
on the shore
as clear as glass
is the water
and all stones and pebbles
are visible
above
blue skies
so blue that the white cotton clouds
appear like sperm cells moving
impregnating
an earth-sky womb
and then
it rains
the water rises
the drift wood again taken
floating
gently to another shore
another island
of white sands
a coconut tree towers
to reach a waft of cloud
winds as cool as ice
sands slipping on the fingers
a leaf from a guyabano tree falls
on the mouth
of a sleeping woman
beside her
the man whose arms are enclosing
her throughout
the rainy night
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The State Of Non-meaning
so many sands
long term plans
so many grains of sands
on the beach on the mind of man
oh, i guess
so many poems composed
each poem has become a grain of sands
so many grains
from my mouth
to my hands to my feet to the beach to the sands of time
in search for meaning
when actually there is none.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Crowded Trolley-Car
The rain's cold grains are silver-gray
Sharp as golden sands,
A bell is clanging, people sway
Hanging by their hands.
Supple hands, or gnarled and stiff,
Snatch and catch and grope;
That face is yellow-pale, as if
The fellow swung from rope.
Dull like pebbles, sharp like knives,
Glances strike and glare,
Fingers tangle, Bluebeard's wives
Dangle by the hair.
Orchard of the strangest fruits
Hanging from the skies;
Brothers, yet insensate brutes
Who fear each other's eyes.
One man stands as free men stand,
As if his soul might be
Brave, unbroken; see his hand
Nailed to an oaken tree.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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I Dreamed.... (Hands)
i dreamed last night...
and all i could see were hands.
sometimes hard and calloused,
sometimes soft and feminine.
skilled hands, laborer's hands,
loving hands, nurturing hands....
fingers digging in the dirt,
fingers holding a pen.
fingers playing a piano,
fingers unbuttoning blouses.
hands extended, hands gripping the rope,
hands holding the shovel,
hands covered with resin.
hands folded in prayer,
hands balled into fists.
hands stuffed in empty pockets.
hands that define both history,
and destiny!
hands scarred and bruised,
hands covered with age spots.
hands that speak many languages.
hands that know mistakes, and failures.
hands that built fires,
hands that put fires out!
hands that wiped away tears,
that picked up trash,
and revealed souls....
whose hands?
my hands, your hands?
god's hands?
does it really matter?
hands engaged and involved,
in the very act of living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Waves And Foams On My Feet
when my feet steps on the sands
and pebbles of the shore
i feel the life
stood upon by my whole body
when the waves
come and go like a pendulum on
my legs
leaving some sea caps
and foam on the hair
i begin to understand
who i am,
arriving and yet not staying
going away and yet coming back
in a matter of time
between storms and
clear days, and i agree with
the seagulls singing about life
and fading in a distance
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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