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Today it will rain once again,
In the windows of cloudy eyes,
Where I and you unclearly exist,
On the lotted shores of memory.

Stoic birds wading upon waves,
That grieve and go, riding, broke,
An endless sweeping of sorrows,
Carried by moans on the wind.

In the windows of our new eyes
There was, then, true gleaming
And we were *****, by seasides,
Among sparkles of stars and sun.

The island so far away was here,
Perfect, bright, cast of nowadays,
Land only love in whisper knows
O, by the graceful seasides only.

Now, dry, shelled and castaway,
The wind is shrilling its long keen
And the cradle bones of our love
Lie still, asleep in sinking sands.
Seán Mac Falls Sep 2014
My hands on her skin,
Like a child I remember,
Soft sands at the beach.
Kelsey Chupp Jun 2018
she was a free spirit
the kind whose hair smelled like the wind
and who ran with wolves
she walked barefoot up mountains
and danced in the rain
she picked wildflowers
and sang songs to the trees
she waited down seasides
and whispered secrets to the stars
she was a free spirit
the kind that need not be tamed
-k.j.c
3.29.18
Seán Mac Falls May 2014
My hands on her skin,
Like a child I remember,
Soft sands at the beach.
Look up from grey, your stony walls,
Break with the sun, seasides beyond,
Even dreams can come true my heart,
Take one step into the song of the lark.

If I should stay, Cuillin Hills will weep,
End up bleating with black faced sheep,
Stoic on cairns, froze giant of Callanish,
Or gutted in harbour like some cuttlefish.

My mind is mournful, keens with winds,
O what choral fantasias we both'll sing,
Hymns north, west, south, easter terrain,
Thoughts' forsake, points the wind vane.

A fine stout dinghy awaits pure ravel,
My sorrows a mend upon that voyage,
Into the west, moon hid from maid sun,
Aye, ginger haired wrangler tae horizons.
Dave Robertson Aug 2020
Remember the sandwich of youth?

On a drizzly beach with actual sand,
the grit crunch making things somehow better
for the supermarket cheddar
and margarine on sliced white

Let the memories come

The loved ones flinging frisbees,
or playing impossible cricket matches,
grand unplanned architecture,
studded with dead shells,
monuments to a hopeful utopia,
collapsed by the heavy-heeled truths of vengeful siblings
or everyday tides

Sea air makes you hungry and tired,
content,
like life and years try
My Dear Poet Aug 2021
My colourful mind
melts upon your skin
drips from your lips
slips from your hips
you’re looking like
rainbows in raindrops
tints trapped in teardrops
blobs of purple slop stain
violent splats of violet paint
on the palette of my brain
stay in the line of my mind
eyelashes for brushes
red roses and rosy rashes
fireworks and knee jerks
yellow and low blows
all these and much more
are greener than folklore
seasides and sea-saw
whys your eyes so blue for?
go ahead and kiss me
taste the colours you adore
Brent Jan 2016
**
Criss-cross
Fate's pathways go
Like rivers
Twisting and turning
To seasides and shores

Criss-cross
Fate's lines converged
Caused you and I to meet
And our sights to merge

Criss-cross
Fate got our strings in knots
But Time was against us
And what we had sought

Criss-cross
I leave it all to Fate
And accept the fact
Fate got us in knots
A little bit too late
wrong. *******. timing.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2015
there’s a motto,
treat a cat like a cat,
when a cat ***** in your bed
smack him over the head for him to learn
and...
gentlemen never drink in the morning.*

the last motto can be changed to:
gentlemen never drink in the morning
unless they take the remnants of the whiskey
with coffee... now you’re talking irish gentlemen,
or perhaps northern irish, because that’s
where the english ***** bank was established...
that great big sandpit known as lough neagh
(that's ulster... or ulcer?).
blake was wrong... there are more ***** tadpoles
in every ******* over the years than there
are grains of sand on the seasides and stars in the universe...
it would be counterproductive otherwise.
i’m not going to be one of those repentant drunks
who suddenly find poetry or prose
lacerating myself on ‘oh poo poo poo’ memories
and how one can become a respectable citizen via newspaper publishing,
**** that, *******, eminem gave me all the clues;
swearing? taking oaths? it's called punctuation in połlish.
come on celt... let's tango!
Connor Reid Mar 2014
It's all a choice

The simple things

Car parks full with disgust

You breath at which the rhythm you bring

I'm growing older

And this house isn't getting any colder

I'm growing up

And this life isn't what it once meant to me

The picnics and benches

They rise and they fall

Seasides and sandcastles

We sat on the wall

Together, and now its OK

We stare aimlessly and talk everyday

You never did

But I missed you today

It's in the pragmatics

The air and the semantics

Ribbons leashed to my tongue

Hopelessly inadequate hapless passionate

Stretched, quick, gone now, faded

I see you on the mind of other peoples faces

Now it's just dissolution

Diluted into an illusion

I'd watch my step

Because it's going off further than the edge
2011
E l l e Nov 2018
I just can't help but wonder

If by you saying "I love you"
Is just another way of saying "I love the feeling of you".

That your fantasy of us
Was just an illogical fallacy of lust
Because in truth, I fear you do not think with your heart-
In betrayal, I will always trust.

I wish we were back to those beautiful days;
The days where we would pick strawberries,
On the coats of Norway-
Swing carelessly, on the seasides of Whales.

Now, we just pick fights on the depths of our insecurities,
Say careless, arrogant things out of spite-
I miss when "I love you", wasn't an apology.

Maybe you can love me for real this time,
and not like the times we've shared.
I hope that one day "I love you" will mean no more
than just a few words to show mediocre affection-
And I won't need it as my life line,
Or my everlasting addiction for approval from you.

Maybe one day, we won't even have to say
"I love you",
Because on that day, we wouldn't have to wonder
What the answer would be.

For once, I deserve that.
All of you deserve that... xoxo
Odd Odyssey Poet Oct 2021
Feel too young to live,
Stuck in all of my old ideas:
On the very seasides-
Wait on time to change its tide.

Its long line of spray-
All the good moments are-
Quiet subtle whispers:
As the worst of them all,
Are a grating roar.

Begin, and cease,
The tides have grown full:
Everything now draws back;
As I feel like a lost pebble,
Without its own direction:

Tremulous, is man's misery;
In their shoreless ocean,
Waiting on the sand, shivering in cold.
Only the brave try-
To swim to the- Ends of eternity,
As children feeling so bold.

Perhaps that time I was bored,
Wondering what's next to come?
Timeless, is life when you're lost-
In all your childish dreams.

With the aroma salts,
Hair lost in the breeze;
I feel so joyously lost at Sea.

Deep, quiet, and alone;
Young, bright, fair, and free:
Only when, it was the younger me.

The ocean's body-
Is a thousand tears,
Of the Earth's greatest guilt:
Pulling me away from dreams;
As her and I are both Blue.

Awful spirits of the deep,
Once took my happiness -
And returned to me filth:

Still at the time, of my youth.
For youth is, so cruel.
But what are we to do,
To only hope we make it through?
Young Soda Feb 2016
Most easily dredged up by balloons,
though it's in snowflakes, beehives,
watermelons and seasides, tennis
shoes, bare feet, deep dives and knee
highs. Two cups, four hands, infinite
tea, smiles. Falling asleep on the couch,
running a mile and then breathing out.

In the perfect timing, the rhythm
to life. The taste of the nectar, the
setting of the vivid dream, the smell
of the clay. The touch of the stone,
when you arrive at the peak. The
frequency of her soul, the feeling
of freedom. The communion of
people, who have found the same
wisdom. The light of the morning
Through the windows, of home.

The sound of harmony flowing
through your cerebrum. The air
in your lungs, the long breaths
when you breathe them. The
light in your face that reflects
off the sun. The clouds that help
all of the plants toward the sun.
The dog laying still finding warmth
in the sun. The air that was born
and that lives in the sun. The
piece of us that was once tied
to the sun.
air and water are some good tings
These are the hot days
the ones where you crunch
through the shingle that lays
on the shore days,
the ones where you strip
and skinny dip in the bay days.

So many ways to enjoy them
but
mostly by the sea.
M Jun 2018
‍   sometimes i catch myself writing like a 2013 tumblr girl. not that i'm against tumblr girls, or 2013, or the writing of girls, really; but you know the type i'm talking about.

‍   mentioning-a-body-part-every-few-paragraphs type. there-is-something-inside-of-you-(probably-a-flower-or-some-other­-plant) type. the type that reeks of cigarettes and seasides and longing. the type that could even just be one or two words

‍   ‍   ‍   written like
‍   ‍   ‍   ‍   ‍   ‍   ‍   ‍   ‍   ‍ this,
‍   ‍   ‍   you see?

‍   ... and people gobble it right up. (i can't blame them. i once did.)

‍   i'm not sure when i realized that there's more to poetry than typewriter aesthetics and talking about bones and rib cages and oceans. sometimes i catch myself comparing eyes to galaxies and i laugh because there are so many eyes, so many poets, so many stars.

‍   i wonder if there's poetry in the little things. the mundane. rainbow gasoline leaks on damp streets; brown brick cafés during golden hour. untied shoe laces. kissing in the back of an uber. (there has to be, right?)

‍   (there has to be poetry in the way my mother bakes her chicken *** pie. the thrum of music playing from another room. emojis. how chlorine sticks to you after swimming in pools. hands that don't fit together; hands that are too big to hold each other; hands that clasp on to each other anyway.)

‍   (there has to be poetry in those.)
audrey Jun 2023
He imprints the garden outside,
He drowns them in my waterworks,
He left me eternal tulips,
Ones that don’t die off with time.

He dedicates me old lullabies,
He reads me literature by the seasides,
He reminds me to look up at the skies,
And there’s where he’ll be.

He meets me at weird times and places,
He’s like old love in long houses,
He’s the love my God forbids,
Yet, I pray I’ll stumble upon him
When we make it big in life
In the subway of way too big cities.
Just call my name and I'll be there
Soaked by the spindrift
to near to the shoreline
after all this time
you'd think I'd know better.
Shaun Yee Apr 2021
Weather getting hot
Shops selling out of swimwear
Seasides getting packed
Shaun Yee Mar 2021
Weather getting hot
Shops selling out of swimwear
Seasides getting packed
Jenish May 2020
Greenish meadows, stony benches
Doves and crows toilet in bunches
Huge turnout..

Without fear of baited string bides
Flying fishes in lone seasides
From hideout..

Tree top squirrels wandered bottom
Like torpor kings in their kingdom
Free rollout..

Weeds and shoots sprouting from the soil
Dormant seeds sensing human spoil
They freakout..

Birds and beasts call on us to boo
World became a big human zoo
In stakeout..
Shadow Apr 2020
The moon peered through the clouded sky
as sun set on the mountains high
she wondered if they knew below
the things she'd seen in all her glow

the scurry of this human race
caught in circles fast embrace
locked within their sinful ways
repeat rewind replay each day

once she'd felt their softest touch
pin ***** of a flag pole ******
marked as if they owned her now
such foolish man in foolish hour

wars, floods, pandemic woes
shifting lands seasides flows
burning landscapes ice age fraught
man oh man what next be brought

the moon peered through the clouded sky
weeping clouds her only cry
heal man of earthly woes
heal so i may once more glow

— The End —