What We Did At The Beach House....
it is freedom day for me
it is Thursday,
we enter the gate to the beach
fresh winds, green coconut palms
sea grass and white foams,
sea waves and slushy sands,
the octagonal cottage and the
bamboo tables and chairs,
stone silent on the table
collected by you,
we are here for no other agenda
except to feel the freshness of air
recounting those younger years
and then savor our sweet silence
i rock my body on the hammock
you lay asleep on the sofa.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Eden's Gifts
Come gentle to me, my loving embrace
'Neath the Willow Tree...
Let us, both together, entwine
Through the vine, of Our Eternity.
Come closer, to the shoreline, love
The alibaster sands, they await...
The swaying Palms, dance in perfect rhythm
Near the islands, arched bamboo gate.
Allow us, to dwell, for some time and again
In the Teal Seaweed and Olive Moss...
With tender caresses, together wrapped up
So that we shall never suffer one anothers loss.
Spread sweet honey, 'cross my longing navel
And fresh coconut milk upon my deep pink lips
Touch and tempt my Pearl of excitation...
Bring both of us, ever sweet-sweet bliss.
Let us drink, the Ambrosia of the Gods
And lay, upon a hammock, of banana leaves
Allow us, to cherish this Genesis Paradise...
And then softly whisper, : 'I love you', to the island breeze
poem by Theodora Onken
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A Silent World
got a headache
and i shall not tell you
i do not share pain
so i hide away from you
i go behind the house
tied a hammock between two trees
the sun is up and
the shade is cool
i lay my body inside the hammock
and i rock myself slowly
slowly sleep drowns me
into a forgetting
the world is silent
upon a grass so green
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Coconut Miracle
A coconut bobbed upon the waves
and alighted softly on the sands
of the shore. Years later there
were many coconut palms on the
island. They provided milk for babies,
nut fiber for others, oil for lamps,
coconut shells for dishes, lauric
acid for meditation. Lifegiving
little lakes of milk unstolen from
an animal protected by a hard shell
as transform into heaven
slaughterhouse hells.
poem by O. Anna Niemus
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Hurricane Watch
Green. Green the leaves,
and waves gray on the forehead of the beach.
As easy as breeze tensing lengths of hair
waves lift, then snap back like springs.
Trees bend and kneel, fling out brown arms
to catch their running children.
Green. Green the leaves, and wind
pours on the forehead of the beach.
See how sand wrinkles in the lee,
and anchors part like lovers
from invisible chains. Ships break
then run their length to freedom.
Green. Green the weeds,
and sea foams on the forehead of the beach.
Women’s names swim to greet the waves.
And sea sings, “Eve. Eve. Eve.” Mermaid
who set her cap for them, she beckons each
figurehead to her pale and smiling reach.
Green. Green the waves,
and spray glistening on the forehead of the beach.
Her arms catch and embrace hulls like shoulders.
Bold as dolphins they leap to her lips before she
slaps away the face of any sailor so foolish.
Gray. Gray the waves, and flotsam
in pieces grinding on the wet stones of the beach.
poem by Val Morehouse
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I Opened The Casements Of My House
I opened the casements of my house
Onto the wild, wild sea
The billows were on it austere and free
The sea-wind with every house-corner neighed
And with the bending palms in the garden played
At dice or in the games of life at will
And still the casements opened and opened
As if by magic trance or guided else
By a thousand small invisible goblin-hands
That from the sea-main seemed to fly and come
Over the billows austere and free
As the sea-wind with every house-corner neighed
And with the bending palms in the garden played
Beyond, beyond the vista low and large
A plain of beach sand lapped by the waves
And here and there an oasis of sweet palms
That bent their olive heads in the winds’ waffling
And coming and going over the sea.
Where the white billows raged saliva-like
Or like bent god-thrones cool and flexible
In that long windy plain, in that salt sea
Upon the which my magic casements opened
That day, that long and windy day of life
The sea-wind with every house-corner neighed
And with the bending palms in the garden played
And that was long ago, not days or months,
But years, whole years and now my hair
Is turning fast to white and my breath shorter goes
Than it was then that long and windy day
The sea-cliff raged all white like the salt sea
And hid unseen the waves in the inlet small
All hidden from the eyes of curious men
Waxed green and green – ah! it is so to-day
And still
Long windy days come oft and come as go:
And the sea-wind with every house-corners neighs
And with the bending palms in the garden plays.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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How Many Grains Of Sand Are There On The Beach?
we are on the beach
it is a very bright and warm day
the coconut leaves are cooling us
the shade is comforting
the sands so white
the sea is crystal blue
the sea gulls are singing
colored fishes come up from time to time
hiding in the corals
if you want to know how many grains of white sands
are there on this beach
begin the count
for the meantime
we are taking our much needed plunge
we leave you for a while
enjoy yourself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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At The Balcony
from here
i see the blue sea and the old bamboo raft floating in the water
over there is a mountain of stone
with patches of green resistant grass
the coconut trees are tall and thin
and the wooden boats are docked
the men are drinking their tequilas
away from their masters and the owners of their fates
the women are doing their laundry on the river
and the children are splashing in the shallow water
some dogs waggle their tails afraid of the water
i am alone here with a camera on hand
my cell phone is turned off
i am out of reach, i am not lost, i am trying to find a way
back into my heart
feeling what my soul wants to say
i feast on the view that this balcony is giving me
i savor what God is giving freely.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Beach Chairs
Sitting on the beach chairs
watching the setting sun
holding hands and reminiscing
how it all begun
Sitting on the beach chairs
watching the ships out on the sea
holding hands and smiling
together we're meant to be
Sitting on the beach chairs
watching people walking past
holding hands and knowing
that our love will always last
Sitting on the beach chairs
watching the waves along the shore
holding hands we realize
our love is stronger than before
Sitting on the beach chairs
watching the changing tide
holding hands with happiness
to be by each others side
Sitting on the beach chairs
watching the sunrise
holding hands with tears of joy
there are no more good-byes
poem by Joyce Ebrecht
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At The Seaside, A Solitude
the seaside is peaceful
the sky is blue with white cumulus clouds hanging there
slowly they move and change shapes
like the air is painting and mixing the colors in space
gentle hues graceful strokes
the white sands extend to some miles
the coconut trees are like handshakes
their shadows restive and steady
i lay my body weary of the years
i look at all these lines and circles and spheres
i like to give up thinking and just be a spectator
i let them talk and i merely listen
the seaside, the seagull, the clouds, the coconut trees, the white sands,
the circles and spheres and lines extending
to nowhere.
i cover my eyes with a straw hat. I cease.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Yes, Let The Sleeping Dogs Just Lie Peacefully On The Beach
yes, mr. clark,
let the sleeping dogs just
lie peacefully on the
white sands of the beach
let them sleep well
to the songs of the
sea breeze
let the waves be
gentle and
let the one who
thinks so well
have that clear and calm
eye
let him pass
his way and let his footsteps
every footstep
be erased by the winds
by the waves of the
gentlest sea
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Friend You Must....
we always want to spend
Christmas on the beach
what is it that we want to be reminded of?
the sands?
yes what about the sand?
when we arrive there
the kids run to meet the sea with laughter
the sea breeze is salty yet cool
the trees are tall and big and shady
the silent sands are peopled now
we will be too busy with fun
feeling saved and going public with
all that happiness gives us
the silent sands look at us with a gaze
it has a record of the past
it has absorbed the memories of the sea
it looks at us with pity
what is it about the sands?
and their silence?
i think i know it
but my friend you must find it yourself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Self-searching
we always want to spend
Independence Day on the beach
what is it that we want to be reminded of?
the sands? yes what about the sand?
the grains?
when we arrive there
the kids run to meet the sea with laughter
the sea breeze is salty yet cool
the trees are tall and big and shady
the silent sands are peopled now
we will be too busy with fun
feeling saved and going public with
all that happiness gives us
the silent sands look at us with a gaze
it has a record of the past
it has absorbed the memories of the sea
it looks at us with pity
what is it about the sands and their silence?
i think i know it but my friend you must find it yourself.
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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Religious Table
A table wooden to the bone cushions my side of the bone,
Tables and chairs, chairs and tables work hands and feet.
My real furnished appearance stages a welcome,
By talismans so religious and bold, and also stronger than the furniture.
The bones of a skeleton are brittle when time takes time,
Bone is sacred, bone is like a table of splendid nature.
My body is furnished with eyes and ears, faces so dear,
Letting light be knightly on the skin, with skin and skin.
The bones of religion collect by night and day,
Relics of the past demand recollection, everyday.
poem by Naveed Akram
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How Green Really is My Valley
She is standing behind the broken bamboo gate,
Incongruously framed, a row tall green flowers,
Perceived with bleak eyes through twisted wire fence.
How green really is my valley.
Breezy lime green of short grass,
Swaying bamboo playing fiddle for me-
Olive green ornament baffle us all,
Sliver streaks of light illuminate-
I lost my imagination in embellishment of past glory.
Slaughter woods speaks to us a lot,
The pain of pure air amidst defilement-
My children may see as green monument.
poem by Sakkthi Subramaniyam
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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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The Grass, Not The Bench
It is not the Bench
that gives me that feeling that i have touched
the face of the sky
grope my hands upon a bunch of stars
or slide my doubting finger
to a fresh wound
of resurrection
I sit there All Day
and finds nothing that redeems me
From Oblivion
It is the grass and the ground
that it has
covered for years
faithfully that have given me
the essential strength of my bones
the tingling feeling
on my heel
the feeling is more than that
i am surrounded by silent stars
cumulus clouds
feather winds
filled with foams
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Visit To The Seaside
When we pay a visit to the seaside,
We venture out onto the sands,
And wiggle our toes in soft golden grains,
And mould sandcastles with our hands.
We so like to collect lots of seashells,
Different shapes, sizes and hues,
Houses that once belonged to sea creatures,
In soft greys, pale beiges and blues.
We enjoy splashing out in the water,
Which the tide brings fast up the beach,
Catching our feet in the green seaweed strands,
Which are then dragged back out of reach.
It's a pleasure to ride on the donkeys,
All soft looking, sad eyed, but strong,
Each of them needing a love and a pat,
Before they'll carry us along.
There is the pier with its great attractions,
The prom stretching around the bay,
Candy floss, ice cream, hot dog stands,
Bandstand where musicians can play.
The sparkle, the glitter, and the shimmer,
Of sunshine way out on the sea,
The salty fresh air, and the blue. blue sky,
Means a 'holiday time' to me.
We take photos of Mother and Father,
Fast asleep in striped canvas chairs,
Obtained by us sneaking up quietly,
And just 'snapping' them unawares.
The amusement park, with a loud clamour,
The roundabouts spinning so quick,
The ghost train, ready to give us a scare,
And waltzers, which make us feel sick.
The old lady who tells you your fortune,
If you have the courage to ask.
The coconut shy and pinball machines,
Which will always take us to task.
The small boats waiting out by the jetty,
Take you for a trip out to sea,
With the gentle breeze and the rhythmic waves,
It's a wonderful place to be.
At the end of our day at the seaside,
With the sun rich red in the west,
We will all feel so calm and contented,
For our day's been one of the best.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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In Gordon bay
There’s a light breeze blowing
and the waves
have white horses,
where they splash on the beach.
I can smell the freshness
of the sea
and hear it breaking
and breathing,
on the other side
of the street.
The chef is frying
some sea-pike on an open grill
and is chilling
a bottle of JC Le Roux champagne.
The sun is falling hot
next to the cold blue pool
and your body shines,
from the sun tan lotion
and you tan reading a book.
I splash into the pool
and you look up annoyed
for a moment,
before you slip into the water.
I feel free with you with me
and even the beach
and the sea
can wait for a better day
and everything is really great.
poem by Gert Strydom
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What A View Of The Sea Today
it is such a beautiful sunny day at the beach
a man with a muscular body rests on the white sand
beside a blue boat under a tall coconut tree
a woman with a beautiful body, pinkish skin arrives
and removes her transparent skirt and plunges to the sea
on a black bikini
the tiny waves of the sea glisten
like some eyes peeping
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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