Related quotes: I was watching a flight...

The Difference

I was watching a flight of swans
in a neat row over the horizon.

You were counting the pebbles on the beach.
Sun will shortly crease the clouds,
but first let us decide for our starving existence
how far is our home?

I cannot assemble the broken mirror,
the splinters have twisted images.
Somebody knocks out a tomb in sand,
and I wait for a giant wave to wash
out the traces.

The death offers the final peace.

poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes

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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Glass Beach

Waves gently crash
in distant froths salty brine
on drawback sand.

Beach pebbles rattle
smooth curved and worn
upon shoreline wash.

People gossip.
saunter back to vans
full of sandy hope

and scratched legs
with brush off hands
on sunburn red.

Fish swim batter fat
to be served with chips
and curry pot sauce.

An alcoholic sea
laps upon a beach
of glass broken bottles.

poem by Adi Cox
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Glass Beach

Waves gently crash
in distant froths salty brine
on drawback sand.

Beach pebbles rattle
smooth curved and worn
upon shoreline wash.

People gossip.
saunter back to vans
full of sandy hope

and scratched legs
with brush off hands
on sunburn red.

Fish swim batter fat
to be served with chips
and curry pot sauce.

An alcoholic sea
laps upon a beach
of glass broken bottles.

poem by Adrian Cox
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Working Metaphore

Work is like an island in an ocean of time
Landing on this shore felt like paradise
But the island is small and quickly grows boring
I am standing in the water, looking out as I work

Time passes in portions of half an hour
Wave upon wave of life slipping down the tide-line
I am deciding whether to let go and wash away with it
Or hold on and climb the beach again

How many islands are in this ocean?
I gaze out and see a few just waiting for me
Can I swim to them, will they take me?
In the water between them, is there love lurking?

Changes are on the horizon, as a tsunami
Rolling towards this island invisibly, towards me
None of the islands will survive it, I fear
Or maybe only I will be washed away into oblivion

Tick, splash, tick, splash, wave upon wave of half hours
Carrying me just a little further from the dry sand
Behind me, the managers are calling from the trees
I hesitate for a moment, and let the waves wash over me

Only a few more, and I can swim for a while,
I might ride the changes to a far away place if I'm swimming
In the water I can meet another, to drown my regrets of the last
The waves wash over me, and I wait for the tide to swim

poem by Poet Dragon
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Sandy Thoughts

'Ride this wave with me and know,

That every wave leads to a beach

But every beach is different.

The beach I seek is one where

The sand fits perfectly between my toes

Like your fingers between my hand.

Where the water embraces my skin in warmth,

To remind me how it feels to hold you.

A beach where me and you are the only ones,

To let you know, you are my only one.

I am not afraid of where this wave will take us,

I am afraid that you and I will never see the beach I seek.

That when I look back and think, what could have been,

Should have been, will never be.'

poem by Vinh Nguyen
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For Johnny Pole On The Forgotten Beach

In his tenth July some instinct
taught him to arm the waiting wave,
a giant where its mouth hung open.
He rode on the lip that buoyed him there
and buckled him under. The beach was strung
with children paddling their ages in,
under the glare od noon chipping
its light out. He stood up, anonymous
and straight among them, between
their sand pails and nursery crafts.
The breakers cartwheeled in and over
to puddle their toes and test their perfect
skin. He was my brother, my small
Johnny brother, almost ten. We flopped
down upon a towel to grind the sand
under us and watched the Atlantic sea
move fire, like night sparklers;
and lost our weight in the festival
season. He dreamed, he said, to be
a man designed like a balanced wave…
how someday he would wait, giant
and straight.
Johnny, your dream moves summers
inside my mind.
He was tall and twenty that July,
but there was no balance to help;
only the shells came straight and even.
This was the first beach of assault;
the odor of death hung in the air
like rotting potatoes, the junkyard
of landing craft waited open and rusting.
The bodies were strung out as if they were
still reaching for each other, where they lay
to blacken, to burst through their perfect
skin. And Johnny Pole was one of them.
He gave in like a small wave, a sudden
hole in his belly and the years all gone
where the Pacific noon chipped its light out.
Like a bean bag, outflung, head loose
and anonymous, he lay. Did the sea move fire
for its battle season? Does he lie there
forever, where his rifle waits, giant
and straight?…I think you die again
and live again,
Johnny, each summer that moves inside
my mind.

poem by Anne Sexton
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Twisted Mirror

The mirror is twisted for a reason
Though always existing, it is rarely seen
Until that moment, when it is needed
Until then it twists beyond your dream.

Death is just a step inside the mirror
A mirror that was all we left behind
With an image of a place we have forgotten
But directions still remain within our mind.

Just one step to learn the truth of our existence
To find ten thousand years of memories
Be shown the reason for this life, our latest journey
And learn all of man’s histories.

There is no need to fear the twisted mirror
It is just returning to the life that we once knew
To continue our journey to perfection
Just one more step for me and you.

poem by Irene C S ClarkHogg
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Collecting Pebbles

It was from the sands of a windswept beach
I picked up pebbles that were easy to reach.
They had attracted my attention while walking by
their coloured well formed shape caught the eye.

There were so many to choose from I had to decide
in selecting those which my fancy would coincide.
It’s truly amazing what some people see in stone
a subject in which a lot of our imagination is prone.

It was almost as if I’d found treasure on the seashore
and couldn’t help myself as I looked around for more.
The simple joy of collecting something that attracts the mind
is an age old activity which all people do have of some kind.

There were the questions of how many would I take
and what, if anything with them, one could make?
They were so abundant and all varied mostly in size
that it wasn’t hard to imagine an object or visualize.

It was also only the first location at which I found
that I thought surely there must be others around.
So with a sense of adventure I looked forward to explore
another beach while making my way home along the shore.

There were several other stops made further on the way
collecting various coloured pebbles amidst the sea spray.
Many times would I get my sandals wet along that coast
going amongst rocks and sand to the waters edge at most.

It was with a sense of gain and loss then after I’d taken enough
deciding right there and then to stop collecting which was tough.
The next step would be to think about and see what I would do
with all those beautiful pebbles gathered while passing through.

Maybe I could approach someone with the right flair and skill
who could make something with them and imagination fulfill.
That natural forming eroding action of water, ice, wind and sand
rarely requires the finishing touches of some other skillful hand.

Perhaps in fashioning some jewellery using metal to bind
a few pebbles together that are different or a similar kind.
Or maybe I could just keep some myself and give the rest away
a gesture of friendship toward which our memories would play.

Yes it was from the sands of many a windswept lonely beach
I came accross and collected pebbles that were within reach.
Isn’t it truly amazing what some people see in stone?
a subject in which much of our imagination is prone.

poem by George Krokos
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Very Quiet Besides Rain

we could have fallen asleep
falling rain on my forehead
breeze upon grass leaves
my big straw hat was gone
beach mat is our umbrella
our miniature beach cottage

sand ridges are eroding
a nice target for raindrops
we see sections of rain
on wide horizon, very nice
god wasn't writing in sky
nor moving his giant toys

poem by Manonton Dalan
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Y.... Wave of Peace

Peace

I dream
of a wave of peace

A giant wave
Reaching beyond the fences
Moving deep inside

A wonderful wave
Drenching all the minds
Pentrating deep in hearts
Changing souls forever

A tsunami
Devastating all walls of greed
Destructive to violent thoughts
Ripping apart perversion
Erasing arrogance

A wave of peace, streaming
envelopping the world
Softening hearts
Wisening leaders

Just peace
Dare to dream with me
Let us all pray together

Let's dream and believe
In a wave of peace

An awesome wave of peace

poem by Aufie Zophy
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People Who Live

People who live by the sea
understand eternity.
They copy the curves of the waves,
their hearts beat with the tides,
& the saltiness of their blood
corresponds with the sea.

They know that the house of flesh
is only a sandcastle
built on the shore,
that skin breaks
under the waves
like sand under the soles
of the first walker on the beach
when the tide recedes.

Each of us walks there once,
watching the bubbles
rise up through the sand
like ascending souls,
tracing the line of the foam,
drawing our index fingers
along the horizon
pointing home.

poem by Erica Jong
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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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The storm that hangs threatening

From Margate beach
I see a ship sailing past,
with people that are
dots on it.

The summer sun is hot and high
but there’s a strong wind
that swishes over the sea
and waves that like white spectre horses,
curl and twist and rise foaming
and shattering
fall to death against rocks and the beach

On the horizon grey clouds hang ominous,
where a storm is rising
and the sky breaks the water.

I am caught up in a life
that is broken into pieces
and I wonder when
the storm is going to overwhelm me.

poem by Gert Strydom
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To Beach or Not To Beach

The beach, for some a burst of bravado,
for others a bath of brilliance.

Sand-coated with lotion and encompassed with cellulite,
I enviously gaze around me.
Bikini bronzed bodies swarm the beach,
while children are amused with sand-castles and beach balls.

Invading music blares from the neighbouring umbrellas,
and with a headache developing,
I cringingly approach the waves.

Mulitcoloured surfboards ride the towering waves,
and currently joined by eager faces,
we duck and dive in time to each wave.

For a cure to the killer salt in one’s mouth.,
I recommend the common beach ice cream
and armed with my overflowing towel,
I retreat for the day.

A fiery sunset is the perfect ending for any beach experience.
as footprints are imprinted on the moist sea sand,
some will experience feelings of tranquil peace,
Others, feelings of physical pain…

poem by Margaret Purslow
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Echoes of The Past

Echoes of your laughter
springs into my ears
another time and place
holding you so close
a smile upon your face

strolling on the beach
sand beneath our feet
watching the tide
ride upon the beach

hearts were so innocent
and sweet
wait until tomorrow
when life is complete.

poem by Heather Burns
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The Youth And The Old

the youth and the old-

o what a contrast in between!

the youth is unapologetically mindful

of every millimeter of its dress

for its match, crease, fitness, and what not,

craning and twisting its neck in front of the mirror

and straining every nerve to put up a decent show

everytime it steps out of the house!

the old cares the least for anything

and moves out shabbily unmindful of stature -

while the youth cares all for looks and joy

the old pines for the health of its soul

visiting whatever that is holy

and dwelling wherever it could smell peace!

while the temples are for the pleasures of youth

they are the holy rivers to cleanse the souls of the old.

the youth sprays the worthless ever with matching hearts

the old broods within itself submerging in the sparks of the past!

the youth, does it care for the future?

the old tunes its ears to the knocks of death.

the youth dares death at its cave

but the old, though wishes death,

is terribly afraid of even to listen its distant footfalls!

-s.chandra kalaadhar

poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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Sonnet: Three-in-one sea-watching

His elder sister, himself and pet-dog
–upon the beach, the three of them standing
Are silently immersed in sea-watching
–a spectacle so awesome despite fog!

The horizon is visible yonder;
The vast expanse of sea is mind-blowing!
Some men in boats are found to be rowing;
Some giant waves rise with noise like thunder!

The sea-water is seen with silver sheen;
The froth moves to and fro, kissing the sand;
The mammoth, majestic sea dwarfs the land;
And, no one knows, how long here, they have been!

Time flies and yet stands still, seeing the sea;
The triune stand engrossed in harmony!

poem by John Celes
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Counting On You

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two
One of these days Ill be back with you
Counting the ways that I love you
Through and through
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine
Tentatively you put up the signs
Letting me know you are mine
And Im counting on you
To be here through it all
Im counting on you
To catch me if I fall
Whatever you do, remember
Im always counting on you
Flight six, eight, one, gate forty-two
At seven fifteen Ill feel ten feet tall
Knowing you care after all
And Im counting on you
To be here through it all
Im counting on you
To catch me if I fall
Whatever you do, remember
Im always counting on you
Counting on you
To be here through it all
Counting on you
To catch me if I fall
Remember Im always
Counting on you

song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Under A Blanket Of Stars...

As we walked along the beach, crashing waves
thundered in our ears and a light, salted mist,
dampened our lips.

The sun began to set and the voice of the beach,
traveled across the ocean waves.

'I am the beach, and here you shall find peace.
I am the beach, here you shall find love.

In this domain, my beach, the answers you
search for, could very well be found here.
For at this beach, there is much,
that has been revealed.

The sparkled, white grains of sand, that blanket
this beach, has been a bed of comfort, to many.

Pause, as you come upon this beach, and listen
to the symphony of waves and the chorus of
birds, singing their song, as they glide in the wind.

Feel the power of this beach, as it seems to
renew your inner being. You need not question
the beach and its mystical powers. For as
millions before you have found, the beach...
and its magical transference to one...have
existed, since the beginning of time.

Be not troubled, for the beach is close at
hand. You need only to deliver your strife,
to the tranquility of the beach and it shall
be exercised from you.

When you go from this beach...leave with
the peace that you have found here.'

poem by Joe Fazio
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I Am The Beach...