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Steve Page Sep 30
I wait and wait
and wait for the turn of the brine tide
and bored, I turn and wait no more.
I walk back home,
with a wooden fork
and open vinegared chips.
Prompted by fish and chips, Sheerness , Kent.
Steve Page Jul 26
I am a soft sandal
You are pebble beaches

I am a lace parasol
You are brutal high gales

I am a yellow sundress
You are sudden hail stones

I am scented sunscreen
You are cumulus clouds

I am Mr Whippy
You are a cloud of gulls

You are relentless
But I will adapt
Strange weather this year
The Kimbeaux Jun 6
The silver moon
from sight
as the rising tide
adjacent piers.

The cool morning
over the gentle bay
as clouds
covering the light of day.

Brown thrashers rhythmically
stolen song
as they
the canal.

Barefoot toes
frequenting familiar

Minute minnow mouths
with the bait
the cork.

Experienced hands
adopting its scent
while the blue *****
into crimson.

Afternoon showers
the earth
as a mysterious moon
the tide.

in Mississippi.
Returning to Mississippi
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
Steve Page Jul 2022
The second best place, I find,
to cry openly undetected,
thereby avoiding unwanted
concerns, is a pier.

You won't stick out, as staring out
to sea isn't that uncommon
and tears are a typical reaction
to the sting of salt on the breeze.

Fellow pier folk will leave
you be, alone with the past
and the uncertain sea.
LC Apr 2022
seconds are drops of water in a river.
everyone starts at the top,
and according to many,
we can only coast with the waves,
following their path until the end,
and the river cannot be moved -
no matter what happens.
but how can the river stay on course
when torrential, destructive hurricanes
dislodge debris and soil from the ground?
when the path is blocked,
the river has to pave its own way.
Escapril Day 6! Prompt: time (nonlinear).
I hope you enjoy this poem! What does it mean to you?
JK Nov 2021
I woke up
before the sun did.

Purple darkness blotted my vision
as I rolled out from under the
warm comforter.

The cold air seeped
through my sweater
the closer I padded to
the window.

Parting the curtains a crack,
I looked out to the parking lot
of the motel.

Thick, greenish-white mist
enveloped the pine trees
and the lonely car shop
across the street.

It was like looking through
a frosted, glass shower door.

Fog comes on little cat feet?
More like huge tiger paws.
The paws of a white tiger,
looking for lost prey.

Too bad for the tiger,
I'm too smart to get lost.
I stayed inside.
JK Oct 2021
I crest the sand dune
breath catching in my chest.
A sigh of relief,
my eyes consume the sight.

The ocean is so blue.
So vast.
So loud, yet
quiet. Like white noise.

Joy bubbles up into my chest,
onto my smiling lips
and squinting eyes.

My senses buzz with satisfaction.
The smell of sunbaked sand,
of the fresh ocean air.

The wind is cold and the sun is warm.
The sand, scalding hot on
the surface, but cool once
I bury my feet deeper.

Peoples voices and seagulls calls
are muted by
the waves crashing against the shore.

The weightless blue sky,
The deep blue ocean,
and the soft white sand.
Simple enough, but
I can't look away
and I want to stay.
An unedited poem. I really like the ocean.
Norman Crane Aug 2021
the night cracks the sun
like an egg into a pan
over the ocean
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