En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Devotion

admiration followed him from the men and women
of the beach as he walks one summer
his skin glowing to the sun: gold
the color of mud, his hair blowing freely
on his head, his steps mellow to the sand

a young maiden from the village follows him
at a distance but not so near bringing him his shirt
neatly folded in her hands-
a little bit angry, she looks at him lifting her eyes
but again not so near

she gives up devotion and throws his shirt
on the grey sand
runs toward the other end of the shore
and disappears

her feet are so tiny leaving this awkward
cloud when she runs away from him

he sees her vanish
ignoring what cloud she left from her tiny feet

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem

I've been up to my neck workin 6 days a week
wearin holes into the shoes on my feet
been dreamin of gettin away since i dont know
Aint no better time than now..for mexico
No shoes, No shirt, No problems
Blues what blues..hey i forgot them
The sun and the sand and a drink in my hand with no bottom
and no shirt, no shirt, and no problems!
No problems
Want a towel on a chair in the sand by the sea
want to look thru my shades and see you there with me
Want to soak up life for a while
In laid back mode
No boss, no polite, no stress, no dress code
No shoes, no shirt, no problems
Blues what blues hey i forgot them
The sun and the sand and a drink in my hand with no bottom
and no shoes, no shirt, and no problems
Babe lets get packed..tank tops and flip flops if u got them
No shoes, no shirt, no problems
No problems

song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problems

Ive been up to my neck workin 6 days a week
Wearin holes into the shoes on my feet
Been dreamin of gettin away since I dont know
Aint no better time than now..for mexico
No shoes, no shirt, no problems
Blues what blues..hey I forgot them
The sun and the sand and a drink in my hand with no bottom
And no shirt, no shirt, and no problems!
No problems
Want a towel on a chair in the sand by the sea
Want to look thru my shades and see you there with me
Want to soak up life for a while
In laid back mode
No boss, no polite, no stress, no dress code
No shoes, no shirt, no problems
Blues what blues hey I forgot them
The sun and the sand and a drink in my hand with no bottom
And no shoes, no shirt, and no problems
Babe lets get packed..tank tops and flip flops if u got them
No shoes, no shirt, no problems
No problems.

song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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Orange Dunes

Even if there were no sun,
no moon in the night-time sky
the shine of these two
by any measure is
not surpassed by the light in each
of your eyes.

Even if I did not love you
Love itself would gladly take my place,
its enchantment a testament
to the lily-fire which resides there
beneath that peaches and cream skin,
that furnace mouth,
that wild hair
which flies on its own
independent
of summer breezes,
as ocean breakers
throw themselves upon the beach
for you,
where your shoeless tracks
in the sand
exist as tiny monuments
of your having passed there.

The starfish smile in the shallows,
the clams bubble
the crayfish line up silently;

the summer sun comes down to crest-height
to gaze upon you,

the gulls caw! and caw!
footmen

sounding the call
you'd come for another days walk

on the beach.

I watch from afar
as wavy foam
from the breaker surge
spews high into the air
obscuring your gauzy shape
as it slowly shimmers and disappears
behind sand dunes of smoky orange.

It is enough to worship here each day
as you go by
no need for consummation
or hesitant introductions.

I am content with Love's Worship
because its perfections perfectly match
your apparition there-
gliding from unknown origins-
a breath-taking passage,
into spiraling sea- foam
leaving behind tiny shoeless tracks
soon rushed upon
by an adoring, loving sea.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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That Part Of A Whole

it is a tiny part
as tiny as a grain of sand
you hardly give it
attention
you keep on saying
what is in this grain of sand
that philosophers
say contain this universe
something so tiny
yet to contain everything
and so you hold the grain of sand
against the light
and revolve it around your fingers
little finger planets
to the sun grain of sand
you cannot believe what you
felt and saw
and so you throw away that grain
of sand to the air
eating it like a big mouthed monsters

you are lost
your world dissolves
like ice
you turn to air
and there you are
gone.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Desert Blues

Cant get no this,
And I cant get no that,
Cant get no you know,
I dont even know where its at.
Aint got the smoke and uh, aint no booze,
Got them low down dried out desert blues, yes I do.
Um, a george carlin said I had to go,
Just what he wanted I did not know,
Im over here dug in so far from home,
Lookin all around try and see whats going on.
I got the sand in my collar,
Got the sand in my hair,
Got it in my pockets,
Got it everywhere.
I got sand in my shirt,
Got it in my shoes,
Got them low down dried out desert blues, yes I do, how how how.
Joined up in the army
Where it was hard to find,
End up over here, got my ass on the line,
But Ill be right here until my work is done,
If I get back home I hope I never see no more guns.
Here across the ocean,
I left some of my good friends behind,
I hope somebodys thinking about me,
Especially that sweet little woman of mine.
Cant get no this,
And I cant get no that,
Cant get no you know,
I dont even know where its at.
Sand in my collar,
Got the sand in my hair,
Got it in my pockets,
Got it everywhere.
I got sand in my shirt,
Got it in my shoes,
Got them low down dried out desert blues,
Yes I do.

song performed by by Allman Brothers Band, music by Dickey Betts, Warren Haynes (1991)
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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Sandpiper

The roaring waves that is shaking the beach
the hissing surf that shines like glass
is part of its world and continually it is just out of reach
where wave upon wave is passing as it runs fast

and it is quick on little brittle dark feet
where sucking small sand grains
sweep in and out and water foams on sheet upon sheet
and there the rushing little bird remains

while its world is at times filled with vapour
and then again suddenly clear
it is focussing on things minutely small while waters roar
are drawing very near

it is continually searching for some allure
it runs and runs on little feet that are sure

poem by Gert Strydom
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Beach

Sitting on the beach with my feet in the sand
Letting the song of the ocean clear my mind of ever thing
Sitting on the beach with my feet in the sand
Watching the surfers chase the perfect wave
Sitting on the beach with my feet in the sand
Watching the sun set on yet another perfect day

poem by Ron St Jean
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Sand-Between-The-Toes

I went down to the shouting sea,
Taking Christopher down with me,
For Nurse had given us sixpence each-
And down we went to the beach.

We had sand in the eyes and the ears and the nose,
And sand in the hair, and sand-between-the-toes.
Whenever a good nor'wester blows,
Christopher is certain of
Sand-between-the-toes.

The sea was galloping grey and white;
Christopher clutched his sixpence tight;
We clambered over the humping sand-
And Christopher held my hand.

We had sand in the eyes and the ears and the nose,
And sand in the hair, and sand-between-the-toes.
Whenever a good nor'wester blows,
Christopher is certain of
Sand-between-the-toes.

There was a roaring in the sky;
The sea-gulls cried as they blew by;
We tried to talk, but had to shout-
Nobody else was out.

When we got home, we had sand in the hair,
In the eyes and the ears and everywhere;
Whenever a good nor'wester blows,
Christopher is found with
Sand-between-the-toes.

poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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Strange Meeting Ii

Deep down in the depths of forgotten dreams
So far away so long ago it seems
The memory comes of a distant beach
Pale sand stretching far from reach
It was then I found my princess of the sand.
As I traced the foam, peebles beneath my feet
I looked behind, I saw this one so sweet
She came to me and I saw in her eyes
The heavy toll of a thousand eyes
I called her my princess of the sand.
She stared at me and my mind was in a maze
As we moved along in a summer sea-dream haze
She moved her mouth but there came no sound
The message she brought can never be found
But I called her my princess of the sand.
One moment we walked with the night breeze in our face
Then I looked, shed gone. of her presence there was no trace
Where she went or came from who can know
Or if shell ever return to help me know
Who she is, my princess of the sand.
Sometime when the summer nights come back
Ill go back to the sea, follow that sandy track
Ill look around, hope to find
That strange young dream, close behind
Ill call her my princess of the sand.

song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Buddha, Or...

a buddha...
or just another homeless man,
standing on the corner
of the street going nowhere.
what do we hold in our hands
that will remain?
even daylight is swallowed by night,
and night disappears into the dawn.
and love in the end
is merely a moment given,
a grain of sand
on a deserted beach.
the trees shed their leaves
for the winter cleansing,
and so we lay our bodies
down into the earth's embrace!
o to be ocean,
filling the great chasms of history.
o to be mountain,
and bridge the earth to the sky.
o to be wind,
to come and go without restraint.
o to be fire,
to consume, and yet to give warmth!

and o to know,
that we are each and all,
that we are none and nothing.
both the falling star,
and the blackened sky...
and yes a grain of sand
beneath the traveller's feet,
the home that cannot be taken,
but is freely given!
and hands that have no need to hold!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Deserted Island

This island is deserted
It is very hot
like the desert
with tons of sand
only theres trees
the trees sway in the breeze
like a cool wind blowing through the village
the water matches the sky here
It's clear blue
you can see everything right down to the sand
under the forever going ocean
there's coral and bright colored fish
it's as warm as
the hot sand under my feet and the summer sun
the isolation is unbelievable
it is unspeakable
the only movement is of the ocean and the trees
there is only me
this island is deserted

poem by Kristen Otto
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The Sound Of My Silence

we arrive at the end of the road
and there is a single pebble
there staring at us
smooth and round
and too light for our burden

i decide the fate of two souls
yours and mine

i lift my eyes to see your sorrow
and mine
i lift my foot to walk away
leaving an awkward cloud
beneath the sand

i run away and you vanish from my mind
you take your gaze towards the horizon
i pack mine towards the sunless sea.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Aditi in a Dream at Wollongong (A Poem for My Daughter)

That evening jogging on the beach with my friends
miles and miles away from home i was alone
the sea was rolling and unrolling its carpet of blue and grey
with what was a milk-border of foam
rolling and unrolling it endlessly or so it seemed

a score of seagulls on the shore flapped their wings
starchwhite some picking morsels from the sand
jogging on the beach that evening miles and miles
away from home i ran into a dream

a little challenged girl in knickers and sportshirt
was carried by the waves to the shore
and as she stepped on the beach i held her hand
she walked with me her puny feet at every step
battling with the sand her head swayed sideward
with the breeze.

she clapped her hands now and then and broke
into an incoherent song seemingly happy walking the beach
i was happy too holding her hand that evening
jogging on the beach till the shout of friends behind
woke me up

alone in my room that night i felt disturbed
sleep was long in coming... waking up at morn
i learnt my TV had been on whole night!

poem by Sunil Uniyal
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Between Games

Nobody rests

This one constantly shifts his eyes
Hangs them on his head
And whether he wants it or not starts walking
backwards
He puts them on the soles of his feet
And whether he wants it or not returns walking
on his head

This one turns into an ear
He hears all that won't let itself be heard
But he grows bored
Yearns to turn again into himself
But without eyes he can't see how

That one bares all his faces
One after the other he throws them over the roof
The last one he throws under his feet
And sinks his head into his hands

This one stretches his sight
Stretches it from thumb to thumb
Walks over it walks
First slow then fast
Then faster and faster

That one plays with his head
Juggles it in the air
Meets it with his index finger
Or doesn't meet it at all

Nobody rests

poem by Vasko Popa
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Written In Sand

Your eyes are the color of the sea
You look my way and the waves
Wash over me
Your body shivers with the
Fading light
You say, baby, lets just make
It last tonight.
And when the morning comes
You take me by the hand
And say our love is written in sand
Written in sand
We hear the ocean roar
Were swept away on to some
Distant shore
You whisper secrets of the heart
They keep us close when the
World keeps us apart
Until tomorrow comes
Time is on our hands
Because this love is written in
Sand
Written in sand
Solo
Nothing lies between
A woman and a man
When their love is written in sand
When their love is written in sand
When their love is written in sand

song performed by by Santana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Farming

In the harsh reality, of the fierceness of the land
the farmer walks over furrows of ploughed sand,
in the distance calves bellow, his eyes look at the blue,
if a rain cloud is appearing somewhere
but the sun scorches like an ach-enemy.

There are lumps of sand clinging together,
his crops are spread over a distance
when a light breeze only just touches the stubbles,
in the harsh reality.

This piece of ground, this farm has a strong bond with him,
he walks to a tractor with a flat tire,
see the sun growing faint in the west,
pray for rain, while he trusts in God
on the blessings from His almighty hand,
in the harsh reality.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Unforgettable Marina! !

Marina, my darling, you are a woman,
For you change your clothes often,
White sandy silver color with light green ocean border,
You do wear the saree of Goddess of education,
When the sun raises, the gold flakes sprinkles on the sand,
Gold border taken its shape with light orange strands,
You do wear the saree of Goddess of wealth,
When the sun starts to walk in the morning,
The bright red color spreads with energy and fun,
You wear the saree of Goddess of energy.
When the sun runs to seek his concubine in the moon,
You do wear the saree of grey in the afternoon,
When the people come to the shore,
And make up the design on your clothes,
You do wear the sarees of happy women in the evening,
Various designs, vibrant colors, different patterns,
Refined textures, sometimes soft and stiff,
As a woman before she is married off,
Sometimes, tired and soaked,
As a married woman, who is tired of,
Marina, you have made me to dream,
When I was a sparrow, looking through the leaves,
When I was an eagle, came out on Saturdays,
When I was a fish, swam in your waves,
When I was the dust, that stuck,
Under your visitor's feet.

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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