Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Silver Beach: Always the Sole First

familiar white fishing boat, up with early light,
seeking sustenance and pleasure in = measure,
anchored ‘bout quarter mile east of my under-the-coverlet,
(of course! as the crow, raven or scavenging osprey flies),
it’s precise location amazingly exact, but alas, soon daily
familiarity breeds no secrecy, and now joined by a
farther out, smaller version, a compatriot in spotitude,
of the best spots for harvesting the early running
brackish bay water favorites, striped or black sea bass

what persistent fortitude these fisher-peoples display,
early to rise, first to depart, when others crowd its “spot,”
(amazed by its knowing precision the exactitude of “spot”)
this ship, always the sole-first, invokes a first poem of the day,
always a soul-first, an unburdening of deepest gratitude that
one more day granted me to imbibe this vista, awake to its
soothing silent heavenly serenity, absent machine or
electronic interference with my delicate sleepy wakefulness,
when newly minted words come into my mind, my
secret spot

Sat AM June 3
alexis 7d
the rustling of the leaves in the trees
the audible tremble
of a collective chill
sounds just like the beach

my front porch
a shining metropolitan shore
the sun seems to soften into welcoming;
a different sun
that doesn’t scowl hotly over apartment complexes
and make liquid of asphalt and people

a benevolent warmth
you can only get
out of the city

the air rubs itself in coarse salt
and Coppertone

this glass of water
in my hand
may well be the ocean
the shift in my lap
the waves
a floating leaf
a boat
adrift on cerulean seas

the children laughing and playing here
are the same children
laughing and playing there, too

i am reminded that everything
can be given a new life
if you tell a wild heart
of an ordinary thing

if i just
close my eyes
a beach
is never far away
Mark Toney May 22
St Simons Island, Georgia USA
East Beach, 12/4/2011

"Your focus determines your reality." —Qui-Gon Jinn

Witnessing an
amazing low-tide
as if a walkway to
a parallel world
has suddenly appeared,
extending one-half mile
from East Beach
out to sea

People are slowly
gathering, walking, stopping,
stooping, staring in silence,
speaking softly—
I'm as eager
as Simon Peter
to join them, yet
somewhat afraid of
walking where
there has been
only seawater
minutes before—
Chattering dolphins
beckoning in the distance
instill confidence

So I join them,
stepping from the
beach onto the
other-worldly terrain,
first 42 steps confirming
we are not alone!
Surrounded by
a menagerie of
sand *****, clams,
beach flea amphipods,
sea roach isopods,
ghost, hermit, and
fiddler *****, even
cannonball jellyfish—
shades of the
Mos Eisley Cantina
on Tatooine
in miniature

But beware of
tidal cycles—
Twice a day
at high tide
the sea, like an
unstable vortex
of a Chappa'ai,
consumes the
even the beach itself
to the edge of
the dune

"The mystery of life isn't a problem to solve, but a reality to experience." —Frank Herbert

"So long and thanks for all the fish!" —Farewell message from exiting dolphins, translated by Douglas Adams

Mark Toney ©️ 2023
5/21/2023 - Poetry Form: Free Verse - ‘The Georgia coast is geographically the westernmost point of any Atlantic coast region, and part of the area known as the South Atlantic Bight, the coastline that curves from Cape Hatteras, NC to Cape Canaveral, FL.  St. Simons and Jekyll Islands are at the inward-most point of the South Atlantic Bight and thus experience the most severe tidal ranges of 6 to 9 feet. The Atlantic Ocean's tidal range, miles offshore, is just 2 to 3 feet.' —National Park Service | Fort Pulaski (
Steve Page May 5
The weak sun and clouds
A blanket from the back seat
It's your warmth I miss

Seagulls are massive
Intrepid and audacious
I carry the scars

Wrinkled and 60
From another century
Nothing has changed

One expensive stamp
Short missives over Assam
Wishing you were here
I love revisiting childhood coastal haunts
Violet Feb 20
Sun goes down the littoral,
Painting shadows on the sky.
If skies could tell stories,
Tonight it's telling mine.

The orange molds memories,
Language of love,
Beautiful stories,
But swiftly slithering to mauve.

The vast blue says torment,
Rivers I've cried,
Sleepless nights,
Tears that have dried.

But when the blue will turn black,
It'll scream pain.
As the memories erase,
Loving I'll forsake.
Long time no see :)
anotherdream Feb 3
If I held the world for you
Would it even be enough?
Would you leave me in the dark
Like darkness is all it was?

Would you let go of my hand
Just to see where you would land?
If I had not been the one to catch you
You would have fallen into sand

It was only my mistakes
That could ever make you feel this way
I know I am not perfect
But since I know you cannot stay
I'll be running a hundred miles from here
I'll be standing in the rain

Thinking back to when it was us
And there was nothing but our love
When we would race along the shoreline
Until I'd tell you to give up

When we would listen to my music
And I would smile when you knew it
Our tastes were simply the same
And no one could dispute it

But I guess there are some wounds
That can never truly heal
I gave you so many scars
That I forgot how they used to feel

How they felt when I was young
Being cold and losing love
Knowing that the day would end
With my tears as my only friend

So can you see the stars in my eyes
As I try to say goodbye?
I don't know if I can keep smiling
But I know I have to try.
Just one of many poems describing how I felt when I lost her. I'm very close to letting her go but the memories are still there :P
Zywa Jan 20
Our heels in the sand

at kite-flying by the sea --

Not to fly ourselves.
Collection "Blown sand"
vanessa marie Dec 2022
i follow the steps
down to the sea
i follow our path
the one of you and me

the sand quiets my footsteps
and the wind whispers my name
as i follow her down to the shore
there she welcomes me in
embracing me deeply
and i sink to her depths, forevermore
Zywa Dec 2022
Your cloths are already dry
but I just let them flap
so at least something is happening
in this deserted place

You just sit there watching
taking a dip every now and then
Afterwards you carefully dab
the short hairs on your skull

I liked you better in the bar
although you were bragging
about your house and the beach
all to yourself

You showed your brown chest
I wanted to lie on it
and work on my tan a little
so nice by the sea

No, you are not social
the day is still long
and there is nothing here
to cook a good meal
"Sea Watchers" (1952, Edward Hopper)

Collection "NightWatch"
Zywa Dec 2022
The sand, lying down

and blasting up, this is how --

the beach is breathing.
Collection "NightWatch"
Next page