eggs shells break like coconuts are delicious

tank shells explode like waterfalls

sea shells are just sea shells

but what about my shells?

O' sandy shells, o' sandy shells; I know
Why pearly armor 'neath the sand conceal.
The whisper tells, the hearted tells of woe
From windy lisps, begotten ears then seal.
The hush foretells, that love foretells, of pain;
A grief that hollowed clams, collect and feel.
To ease the spells, that love-lost spells refrain,
That lovers old; with broken shells, can heal.
O' empty wells, o' loveless wells; rejoice!
As by the sea; the tiny shells will steal
The burning cells, the lovelorn cells and voice
And nestle where; nostalgic sands congeal.

Yes lover's bells, O' magic bells; let shine!
Turn not to shells, like many shells of mine.

Well,well,well, I wonder
How quickly one gets
attracted to these shells
lie strewn around, colorfully
without any scheme or theme
but in no way  less attractive
yet making naked soft soles
of itinerant feet bleed
if gets closer than needed.

On a desolate beach
like this one here, we stand
there isn't much else
other than laden sand
one can expect to set eyes on
for a long, long time
unless one is counting
the waves,incessantly rolling out,
waves that won't let you do that job,
the way perfect,you want to accomplish.
What would a wave bring you other than
what you have expected always!

Then comes the time to let
eyes wander on to the naked shells,
spread as if each conceals a cryptic message!
You'd never want to know  what
strange happenings they predict.

Oh! Yes! so many waiting in disorder
with that onetime impatience,
inevitable death's thirst display,
now quenched forever and aye!
Now licked clean by sun and waves,
and time's invisible scaly tongue.
that adamantly kept mum,
when one was all ears to listen.

Shell white in an angry profusion
dominates the sea shore
making sand whiteness mean less,
Staring eyeless *****,just as shells
comes in to dreams as pirates
Shrimps, kills and prawns transform
in to ghostly shells cackling in salty winds.
Shells whispering the stories of pain from the past,
Did i hear someone in a frenzy yell
from a mid sea night darkness.
"**** that shell,with the evil memories
of a death,that drained all semblance
of life,that drained all spirit of life.
"Shells go back to your sleep!
From the dream of return,
Prepare for a life allover again".

WHITE, BLUE CAP WAVES ROAR IN, PULL OUT

SWEEP DEEP OCEAN FLOOR

SHELLS SMOOTH, SHELLS ROUGH, POINT CURVED

PUSH ON BEACH AND SHORE

WAVES AND WINDS SHAPE

ATLANTIC’S COAST

I PICK UP SPECIAL SHELLS FOR YOU

HOLD THEM GENTLE IN YOUR HAND

ARE THESE GIFTS FOR YOU NEW?

SO WHEN YOU SEE YOUR CHOSEN SHELLS

REMEMBER OCEAN WATERS WIDE

STORIES TELL, ABOUT YOUR SHELLS

WHEN CREATURES LIVED INSIDE!

WHITE, BLUE CAP WAVES ROAR OUT, PULL IN

OCEAN TREASURES AGAIN BEGIN

All strung
out
       on
sadness,
empty shells
of needles
      that injected
the next defense
      to keep me going
splayed upon
the coldness
            of metal
somewhere in a place
lower than
the floorboards
of the nether regions
of a private hell,
where no one sees
      the truth behind
the doors of
           beaten swords
of silken pictures
in frothy shades
of effervescent green
a smiling happy family
in which the
sounds of drowning
can only be
             vaguely heard
a faded gurgle
       in an ocean of sighs

Somewhere, there,
the pain in my veins
spreads like
a self-administered
                       drug
only it's not
my prescription, at all
just a parody
from the very
    sick doctor
who shares
          this house,
meant to
be a home
one who thinks
he knows it all
but knows nothing

In this dreamlike weaving
of staring blankly
into alternative spaces
when all is so heavy
that even breathing is a task
I suddenly remember
   who the **** I am
and push my gaze through
the ceiling cracks
to look up at
         the stars,
receiving their
            shadows
           of light
      like a blessing
   upon my
   nettle-stung
    tongue
and
       rise

Leaves from the vine,
Falling so slow.
Like fragile, tiny shells
Drifting in the foam.

Little soldier boy
Come marching home.
Brave soldier boy
Comes marching home.

These leaves did fall
From branches overgrown.
Drifting slowly down.
Resting all alone.

Little soldier boy
Taken from a home.
Forced to fight a war
That is not his own.

Leaves from the vine,
Falling so slow.
Like fragile, tiny shells
Drifting in the foam.

Little soldier boy
Come marching home.
Brave soldier boy
Comes marching home.

Leaves fell that night
When everything was silent.
No one dared to make a noise.

The little soldier boy
Found his way back home.
His mother wrapped her arms
Around his corpse.

Leaves from the vine,
Falling so slow.
Like fragile, tiny shells
Drifting in the foam.

Little soldier boy
Come marching home.
Brave soldier boy
Come marching home.

Boy! quills were flying this morning. I guess
both David and I woke up on the wrong side of the bed
We were both fussing at each other. We had planned an
early morning trip to the beach and had not had our
liberating cup of morning coffee.
After a while we became more aware and worked on
being sweeter to each other.

As we headed to Coconut Point Beach in Melbourne, Fl, past
the Sandy shoes Hotel,
I thought about what my sister said last night
as I gave her a deep foot massage.

"We, as divine beings are creating everything.
Our experiences are a manifestation of our
thoughts, feelings and actions.
Even scientists are realizing
that there really isn’t anything out there.
It is all a projection of consciousness.
An impermanent motion picture that we get
caught up in and accept as real."

David and I held hands as we walked
along the magnificent shoreline,
gentle waves threw phosphorescent kisses over our feet,
pelicans glided through the gorgeous blue skies.

David stooped to pick up some unusual shells scattered across the
beach. “Look, Sonya… pukalani shells, you don’t see these too often
they have natural holes at the top.  Hawaiians make necklaces
out of these of shells.

I smiled gathering more shells, turning towards the ocean,
the warm amber sun reached out to hug us.
"Yes", I  said to David, “We are like golden spiders
creating a web of happiness or sadness.
It’s all up to us. We just have to remember.”