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.
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 silver moon
falls from sight as the rising tide kisses adjacent piers. The cool morning rests over the gentle bay as clouds commute covering the light of day. Brown thrashers rhythmically mimic stolen song as they traverse the canal. Barefoot toes roam freely frequenting familiar footpaths. Minute minnow mouths toy with the bait bobbing the cork. Experienced hands handle seafood adopting its scent while the blue ***** boil into crimson. Afternoon showers cool the earth as a mysterious moon lowers the tide. Night falls again in Mississippi.
Returning to Mississippi
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
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.
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?
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.
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.
the night cracks the sun
like an egg into a pan over the ocean