En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Skimmers

As a boy he used to toss
flat rocks on the water
of the farm dam or nearby lake

watching them skim
over the surface
only touching here and there

and there was some magic
in the leaping
almost right across the water surface.

The wind whirls up tiny whirlwinds
running out before him on the beach,
a lonely boy is tossing shells into the air

which are blown back in a curling flight,
sand hits legs, arms and the body
stinging like sandpaper,

in the distance skimmers are eating from shells
near to green-blue hued pools,
with some flying low over the sea

and he flings his thoughts back to many years,
thinking again and again
about a world that has changed with time

how he changed from an innocent believing child
to the mature successful man
but his life is empty and he is here to find something.

[Reference: Skimmers by Ted Walker.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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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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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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I Had Been To This Sea Sometime Before (Catena Rondo)

I had been to this sea sometime before
where water stretch out beyond from the bay,
it had been on a tranquil summer day,
I had been to this sea sometime before

where water stretch out beyond from the bay,
the surge swells before it crushing breaks
while a tiny boat rocks upon the wake
where water stretch out beyond from the bay,

the surge swells before it crushing breaks
with some shells and sand swept out everywhere
before deeper in the water we both dare,
the surge swells before it crushing breaks

with some shells and sand swept out everywhere
while you smile in a way that I adore
we hear the thundering on a distant shore
with some shells and sand swept out everywhere

while you smile in a way that I adore,
we both swim through the crashing pull and flow
trying to find a way back, a way to go,
while you smile in a way that I adore

we both swim through the crashing pull and flow
it feels if our world is suddenly gone
while still together we do struggle on
we both swim through the crashing pull and flow

it feels if our world is suddenly gone
while we do see only the sky and sea,
we are trying to get back, to be free,
it feels if our world is suddenly gone

while we do see only the sky and sea,
we are blinded by a distant kind of sun,
hear the engine of a fishing boat run
while we do see only the sky and sea,

we are blinded by a distant kind of sun,
as an unknown, sheltering bay we reach,
as we both stagger out upon a beach
we are blinded by a distant kind of sun,

as an unknown, sheltering bay we reach,
we embrace and you stroke my hair gently;
a rich boat owner looks at you, smiles at me,
as an unknown, sheltering bay we reach,

we embrace and you stroke my hair gently,
we ride on a boat that rocks up and down,
but still we are in a world our very own
we embrace and you stroke my hair gently

we ride on a boat that rocks up and down,
I had been to this sea sometime before,
while we kiss each other and kiss some more;
we ride on a boat that rocks up and down,

I had been to this sea sometime before
where water stretch out beyond from the bay,
it had been on a tranquil summer day;
I had been to this sea sometime before.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Skipping Stones

Perhaps they don’t throw stones
Simply skipping them instead
Picking and choosing only the best
Sleek, slim, rounded at the edges
Such as will easily skim along the surface
Lacking desire to plum the depths

We, poets, observe them
Driven to distraction at times
Amused at other junctures
Maddened as well in turn
Or merely apathetic
But always perplexed
At these ‘Skimmers’
Whose fundamental immediate lives
Leave them skimming across the surface
Never dipping hands into cold deep waters
Or noticing the stream reflecting
The wonders of the skies

poem by Mary Havran
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You Changed My Life

You changed my life
Came along in a time of strife
In hunger and need
You made my heart bleed
You changed my life
You changed my life
Now the nature of man
Is to beg and to steal
Id do it myself
Its not so unreal
The call of the wilds
Forever at my door
Want me to fly like an eagle
Being chained to the floor, but
You changed my life
Came along in a time of strife
In hunger and need
You made my heart bleed
You changed my life
You changed my life
Eating with the pigs
Off a fancy tray
I was bold, I was looking good
And to have a nice day
It all seemed so proper
And so elite
Eating absolute garbage
While being so discreet.
You changed my life
Came along in a time of strife
In hunger and need
You made my heart bleed
You changed my life
You changed my life
You were glowing in the light
Being peaceably calm
Well, how often does a man dance
To the beat of the balm?
Your eyes were on fire
Your feet were of brass
In a world that you made
You were an outcast
You changed my life
Came along in a time of strife
In hunger and need
You made my heart bleed
You changed my life
You changed my life
Truce makers and partakers
Of every selfish whim
Her running to meet me running to her
And you running back to him
Their destruction of my confidence
Was like a sharpness of the tongue
I said: make my faith greater
But I was a little high strung
You changed my life
Came along in a time of strife
In hunger and need
You made my heart bleed
You changed my life
You changed my life

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Running On The Beach

Early just after dawn
there is salt in the air,
a light wind pulls at my hair
while I race on the beach
clothed in only bathing trunks,
trying to outrun the incoming surf,
which at times splashes against my body.

I pass some big rocks
while the white sand of Clifton
clings to my feet and legs,
the air starts to burn in my lungs,
while I pick up the pace,
finding new energy under the summer sun,
with the sea only touching at my feet.

In the distance stark naked
two young women tan,
the one is lying on her stomach
the other is sitting up and facing me
and I notice that her stomach is flat,
her breasts are DD sized with nipples hard,
she says something to the other girl and is smiling.

I want to avoid them, keep to the solitude,
the freedom of racing at speed,
with the sun and the wind touching my body,
while all thoughts are stripped from me
but one of them have got other plans,
gets up and steps right into my way
with legs wide and eyes bluer than the sky.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Landscape 28 Meniscus

The molecules of water are held together
By weak electrical forces
That extend in all directions.
At the water surface, the upward forces,
Having nowhere watery to go,
Lie along the surface
To form a thin skin, called a meniscus.
This is the skin that holds water drops,
Supports water striders,
Even skips stones.

I came once to an Adirondack Lake
On a still moonlit night.
The lake seemed full of fireflies,
Flashes of light in the water
As far as the eye could see.
I finally discovered the source of the light,
The sudden movements of water striders
Riding the meniscus
Bent the water surface
Into a curved mirror
That reflected glimmers of moonlight.

The Japanese make a flower arrangement
In a vessel with a perfectly level rim.
The vessel is filled with water
To a level above the rim
The water is held from overflowing
By a curved meniscus
That bends light like a lens.
In the center of the water
Floats a single perfect flower
That sends tiny ripples across the water surface
And crinkles the meniscus
When the vessel is vibrated.

poem by Stewart McKenzie
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At Houtbay beach

A young girl and an old man
walk down steps
to the stretch
that the beach at Houtbay
throws against the sea.

There are some small fishing boats
in colours of blue,
orange and white
that sails into the sea,

but big white cabin cruisers
bobs up and down
next to the quay
some distance away
as if they are ownerless
while their bosses
play somewhere else.

The smell of sea-pike
roasting on coals
lies on the light wind
and their stomachs growl
of sudden hunger
and here and there
the girl stoops
to pick up shells.

His sturdy boots leaves flat tracts
on the firm sand
and there’s a brown wood walking stick
with a lion head in his hand
and the girl’s
bare foot tracts
run in advance.

The sea swishes in and out
and the wet sand
reflects a bright open day
and the blue water
stretches out
as far as you can see
and it’s as if he gets new power
next to the foaming water.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Alone on holiday away from you

White, red and yellow lilies
grow rampant and wild
next to the train tracts
between Somerset West
and the Strand
where I am on the train
from Bellville

and there’s a
white-hot sun that burns
high from above

and I can smell the sea
while I look
at the magical
dark blue water,

but you will not like
the cold water
and the light breeze
that blows today

and here and there
there are people
sending kites
into the air

and I see them
hanging flapping above
while a few
diving down with speed

and there’s sandpaper
in the beach wind
that hits me with sea sand
and the waves
rollick like wild horses

and in the distance
I see the road turning
past Gordonsbay
and I am alone on holiday
away from you.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Yacht Dance

(andy partridge)
We, we will dance like tiny boats with cotton sails upon the tops of the seas,
That would pull us down to the depths and crush us flat if given half a chance.
No need to look back to pictures of lost, when all was rust.
We, we will skim across the surface of the mud as if were spinning pebbles
Oh, in our yacht dance
Oh, in our yacht dance
We, we will dance like tiny boats with cotton sails upon the tops of the seas,
Made of people stained with scorn who never see the light of real love.
No need to look back through diaries of lost now turned to dust.
We, we will skate across the surface of the storm as if were wheeling sea-birds.
Oh, in our yacht dance
Oh, in our yacht dance
And how theyll be jealous of both of us!
In our yacht dance.
We, we will dance like tiny boats with cotton sails upon the tops of the seas,
That would pull us down to the depths and crush us flat if given half a chance.
No need to look back to pictures of lost, when all was rust.
We, we will skim across the surface of the mud as if were spinning pebbles
Oh, in our yacht dance
Oh, in our yacht dance

song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Soul Comes Into The World

Where the sun rise,
Where the sea kiss the sky,
Where the dawn showing at horizon,
There a soul comes into the world.

Happily flying to the deep blue sky,
Above clouds, dreams or sun,
Joining seagulls in their flight,
Like a trip towards the stars.

Softly touching dewy grass,
Smelling beautiful flowers and their fragrance,
Hearing leaves rustling in the wind,
Admiring an amazing colors play.

A wonderful world invites you in its greatness,
Join us beautiful soul to our world,
A new body for you is waiting,
Let your freedom and come.

Soul metamorphosed into a life,
A child body innocent and fragile,
Ready to be taken into mother arms,
A magic moment happend, the miracle of life.

poem by Cristina Teodor
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A walk along the beach

I see a ship
passing beyond the breakers
white on the top
and red at the bottom

and the sea is calm
and a light wind
is blowing on the beach.

Alone I walk
on the hot soft sand
looking for shells
but here and there
I find one that’s not broken

and walk on further
and further
almost as if following a track
that’s just out of reach.

Climbing down
a small cliff
I am suddenly on a seclude beach
and in the blinding light
shells are everywhere
and I know
that no one else
has been here.

Some are brittle
like the leaves of flowers
and others hard as rock
with orange and pink embouchures,
a scope of blues,
hazing mother of pearl
shimmering like a rainbow,

brittle green circles
with holes in the middle
and some are more pure white
than snow.

I pick a ransom up at dusk
and lay down on my back
and watch the sun
setting above the sea
and time trail from me.

I must have been stuck
in my own thoughts
and caught by the serenity
when suddenly I noticed
a beautiful naked girl
looking at me
with a kiss in her eyes
that penetrates into my soul.

Her eyes shining
with shivering iridescence
(just like mother of pearl)
and her teeth gleaming
whiter than anything.

The second kiss
is on my lips
and hot and sweet.

Some perfume
almost dazes my head
and her nipples brush
protruding against my cheek.

“You have beautiful shells, ”
a husky voice says
and no words can express
my thoughts
while I kiss her back.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Butterfly in The Sky

While i sit on the smooth rocks
Looking over the soft blue sea
Putting my foot in the water
Slowly moving through the water
Take a deep dive in the water
Feels so cold and relaxing
Coming up to the surface
Moving my arms into a freestyle stroke
Taking deep breaths
Moving faster and faster
Until i feel the wind in my wings
Turning into a butterfly
Up and up i go
Not in the water anymore
I am free in the wind
The sun shines on me
Warms my wings from the water

poem by Christina Weinke
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Sandpiper (Cavatina)

(after Elizabeth Bishop)

The leaping spray that roar, the swishing fling
of surf and sand,
plays in and out as waves rush to and thro;
where it does stand
while searching for something on tiny legs;
it understands
the roaring toss, a world of surf and foam,
while rushing on the wet beach it does roam.

[Reference: 'Sandpiper' by Elizabeth Bishop.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Departure

Thousands of tiny
fists tamping the surface of the lake
flowing like a wide
river gone crazy, southeast, westnorth
letting the wind push
it around in its bed and the boat
hull hugging the shore.
What else can she do? Even the trees
agree, shaking
their crowns, throwing down their leaves as if
she were their only
child. Caught cold-footed in Magnuson
grass, trying to cut
free of the creosote-soaked pilings sunk
deep in the shallow
mud holding the water, holding her
wake for a moment,
furrow folding back over into
confusion. Cascade
gray crosscurrents! Sharp switching eddies!
Unreliable
shoals! Let the cloth argue with itself,
gasping like a child
with the air knocked out and the wind
socking the center.
Let the sail, shot-silk green and white, now
snapping, billowing
slowly draw her away from this beach
marked with broken glass, rocks
as smooth as plovers’ eggs, and small
stones splashed iron red
and orange like the sky breaking open.
Let the windows ignite
flickering copper on the other side.
Let the water be
disked with silver from here to there
churning as if roiled
by the flanks of a great, gentle fish.

poem by Christianne Balk
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Bright Buckets

Bright buckets bulge with sand and shells today,
brimmed by children busily at play,
intent on building, digging time away
upon the beach, sand castles they inlay
with scalloped decorations castaway
by last tide’s currents, scattered anyway
along the tattered margin of the bay.

A tiny grain of sand was yesterday
caught up within the complex interplay
of forces ‘yond our ken which ever weigh
upon the stream of consciousness to sway
more than a moment’s notice in their way
regardless of the influences they
appear to have upon our day to day.

Our meditations led far, far away
to rock formations which Time’s Go games play
until the grain by wind or water spray
from bedrock blown, is worn down, dust or clay,
key silent witness to life’s chaos fray.
What change of scene, and what has been, what may
yet be that grain stands witness to Time’s stay...?

poem by Jonathan Robin
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My Venus

cell
moss
fish arising from a
broken shell
less the whiskers
of the cat
a she-goat
rising from the foams
a woman
water body
daisies on your hair
naked
dried by the wind
floating in the sea
the waves take you
to me
i am a lesser god
that you love
i wait
for the making
we shall lie on the sand
to the grass
we are sunflowers
in the sun
and then we wilt
back to earth
in utter silence
of two empty
shells

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Life is short, running like the wind (Song)

God Created, Given as a life.
Touching the people, leaving the people
Moving from place to place
Life is short, running like the wind.

Flowing through the valleys, touching the water
Flowing through the mountains, touching the cliffs
Flowing through the deserts,
Flowing on the oceans and
Running around the earth.
Life is short, running like the wind.

Touching the people, spinning the lives
Touching the old and touching the young
Touching the women and touching the men
Flowing on the ground and playing with the kids.
Life is short, running like the wind.

Running through the villages,
Gushing through the towns,
Swirling in the deserts,
Storming on the oceans,
Touching the earth and calming down.
Life is short, running like the wind.

Touching the flowers, spreading the fragrance
Flowing in the sky and flying the kites
Speeding in the places and spinning the windmills
Running on the rivers and pushing the boats
Life is short, running like the wind.

Days are in and nights are out
Seasons are spinning, time is running
Teja is playing, music sheet is ending
Life is short, running like the wind.

Eyes are closing, dreams are flowing
Going into sleep and day is moving
Life is short, running like the wind.

-o-

poem by Bhavani Polimetla
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Lonely brothers

Across the lake I stare
Across through the morning fog
I hear the lonely call of my brother

His black white body
breaches the surface of the calm lake
His red eyes meet the green of mine

The call of our loneliness ring out across the water
To be swallowed by the fog

As my lonely brother dives ounce again
Never again to rise
Across the lake I stare
Across through the morning fog
Now I am truly alone.

poem by Matthew Ladin
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