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keith daniels May 25
pilgrims, nomads, sentinels against the fury of the coast:
backs bent sidelong,
straining, still,
they sway with loving ease under the eye of that relentless ghost.
the ocean draws its breath.

that salt-stained silhouette of shore under a frosted glow:
a mirror pool,
watchful gaze.
thunderclaps of memory accost the tidal mouths below.
she smiles in her sleep.

in dreams aquatic, giants, titans cry their hopes and fears alike:
the air collapses,
the column pauses, dreading, waiting in anticipation for the strike.
and yet, the dawn arrives.
A winter's storm against the shore. The fragility of everything. The beauty of destruction. Stone thoughts that were stuck in my head while I was penning this one. Did it come through? Not so sure.
T Inkpoem May 25
There are highways on the cliff tops
On the short grass amongst the bog pools
Made by rainwater and salt sea spray

Much used they run through
Crowberry and low grown heather
A world wide web of lines

Picking our the dry ground
The high ground by a hares breath
Flattened by the passing of pounding paws
Mr Poet May 4
Earlier, I picked flowers along the coast
It was a pleasant morning
even after I woke up;
I've put the flowers in the vase at the table as usual
Then water it
We could have spent our time sitting in the grass you know
If you didn't left too soon

I miss you!
roiling across,
just as sea tempests toss'd.
Frost'd froth on brackish peaks churn
the sky.
Nicholas Feb 29
I see you’re feeling
maybe you need some
and you’ll be back at your

You can always be my
as long as you feel
just come and head out

It’s time that you
what’s made you so
m h John Aug 2019
at the edge of the west
i found a place
far removed from
these blinding city lights,
sky scrapers and telephone wires,
where the moon
is the only street lamp,
and these cypress pine trees
out number the population of people
a place of its own
where the run off streams
and mountain cliffhangers
feel like home
Karen Horsley Jun 2019
children’s laughter drifts on winds
blown across land, in from the sea
moats surrounding the castles of their imagination
as water surrounds our island
waves move on sand, over rock
cleansing the coastline
churning sand, shells and shingle
simmering, seething tides
they toss and tumble
depositing debris as it’s washed ashore
this line of litter demarcates high tide
creating a moat around the castle of our imagination
copyright © 2019 Karen Horsley
meg May 2019
The ocean has lost its place in my heart.
It has blurred with the lines of I and myself.
I sit down on the gravel that touches my toes
The gravel wraps itself around my body and rises above my head.

The earth swallows me hole, this is what I have learned.
I like to think that a long heavy slumber will calm my thoughts
like the rapids, on a dry coast.
Desperate to move, but getting absorbed by the sand.
Not so beautiful, but more deranged.

The smallest places are the most beautiful.
I could walk for hours on a dry coast,
feeling the toes of water behind the heels of my feet
and find a large castle, but it wouldn’t be worth it.

The places that remind me of how small yet large the work is make me happy.
Most of these places can only be visited alone.
If you go with others, the purpose is lost.

To live for solitude is to live for freedom.
But to do something for someone else is beautiful.
You can either scream in a room letting the noise bounce off the walls.
You could tell others to stay silent for the sleeping baby.
A baby who can be cured of their inherent tiredness with slumber.
We may live for ourselves, but we try to help others.

Although we fall, we rise in everything.
The earth we rise in?
It leaves its worries at the shoreline and follows you.
It unties your toes from the tide, but then it leaves…
it watches you crawl through the sand in every sunset and comes back when the sun rises.

But at night, you are alone.
You lose your grip on the sand,
but the ocean is empty.
It waits for you to breathe.
Water forms with your every breath.
We all unite and fill the oceans as the sun fills the sky
You will remember the night
Some memories just stay with you like the salt in the sea.
They stick to your skin and you carry them.

When you empty your pockets at the shoreline
You question yourself “when did the ocean become so blue?
wrote about my fear; the sea
I am
limitless and
time in
a whale
that made
dale there
my cactus
so thistly
was my
home now
as I
roam my
intrigue to
New Hope
my senator
pardons me
a lamb
a community in southeastern  Pennsylvania
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