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Bhill Apr 2020
IT
expressionless and with a stare that seemed alien
the driftwood form floated and tossed in the violent sea
not knowing where IT had been or where IT would finish
tossing and turning, relying on the forces of nature for guidance
direction towards land is more then IT could hope for
soon the chaos and turmoil of the sea stopped
was IT on sand or still drifting out there in the void
IT seemed to be motionless when a blurred image appeared
not being able to recognize what IT was
not understanding ITs newfound sensations
not realizing IT was using a sense of sight
was there more to this image that understanding would support
what is this occurrence
is this simple, is this another new unknown excitement
is this even genuine
soon, IT appeared to be lifting up, being held quite gently by something
or someone
IT was suddenly and abruptly raised up and all ITs new sensations ceased
what was this, what was ITs final feeling
IT had been found...!

Brian Hill - 2020 # 106
What is your interpretation of this piece?  Please let me know.
Chasing rainbows in my head
The world outside is cold and dead
As I'm chasing butterflies
The world outside has passed me by

And here I lie in the sands of time
Skeletal and bare
Minnows swimming through my skull
A grinning sightless stare

Diving deep to find the source
Of the pretty mermaid song
The siren voice turns me off course
Now I drift in the duldrums

As I drown in shallow waters
I could breathe if I would stand
But here I lie lulled to sleep by sirens
Comatose in the sand

Too tired now to stay awake
I think I'd rather fade away
Leave all my dreams castaway
On the ebbing tide
Wake me up or let me die
Let me drown or save my life

Let the sea take these bones
And turn them into driftwood.
Robin MacCuish Jul 2018
smooth like beach wood
driftwood you stand
to be sat upon and dragged

cooling glassy salt
deep within your wounds
sanded with time

I wonder if you wish to be
again
as I am laying upon you
dragging you every which way

you are warped and worn
and so I'd like you to stay
but as driftwood would
you always journey forward
for another rainy beach day

Leaving me adrift in my sunny
sandy ways.
Alice Lovey Jul 2018
Even if I waited, as I would,
On the harbor of the sea from which you've drifted,
You are the Captain of your driftwood.
I am a Lighthouse.
Standing on its own, but beckoning a safe return.
Singly among the sand castles
No one noticed until he was there
Above him or in his path

We had built him like children
Build sand castles
We carved and patted him from moist earth
He was soft, yet rigid as he lay there
His gaze was skyward and uncertain..

We left him there to see what people do
And walked a distance to the dunes
We watched him among people
For he was one now.

They came. Families, elderly couples
And children too and stopped
To admire and express delight
At this sand man's sculptured form.

We felt happiness at the pleasure be brought
He made them stop a moment to feel their surroundings
And recognize his contented solitude.

Teenage boys came to jeer and leer.
One of them looked around as if in secrecy
And plunged a driftwood stick at the sandman's groin
Then quickly ran away laughing at his tale.

The stick protruded  boldly
Our sand man's hands were at his sides
He felt no ruler of the sands
Only a gentle soul made of mockery.

A girl and her brother approached
After we had removed the offence.
The young boy was waving his 'mighty sword'
(Some stick which had washed ashore)

At first, with his sister in charge
They stopped to admire
But then she walked away,
Turned her back to venture on.

"Hello", he said to the sandman
As if to acknowledge someone there.
Then with his 'mighty sword' he pierced
Into the sandman's groin and
Ripped up to his chest
Then swung his 'sword' and
Cut the sand man's throat...

Why? Why! we cried in mind
As the young boy ran away
Murderer! we yelled in our hearts

IWe hurt for man
We sat stunned at this violence
This desecration of a soul.

We couldn't just leave him there
Blameless, yet aware
So we buried the sand man and prayed
Dust to dust, sand to sand

Sand he may have been
But soul he was for us.
Joe Cottonwood Jul 2017
El Niño scooped the sand 
clearing every scrap of driftwood, 
every construction playful of a summer’s dayful 
the slapped-together forts, dinosaurs, castles
now launched to Mexico, to Tahiti, who knows?
replaced by fresh fragments of forest 
twisted logs, battered beams
shed by Oregon, by Vancouver Island and Alaska
bobbed by current
to this windswept cove.

Beneath swirls of sunset
as Van Gogh might render
among scattered scallops, kelp, 
sandpipers by the hundred, 
one joyful dog
dances the landscape
expressing with his grin
this vast chaos
of delight.
I live back in the hills about 10 miles from this, my favorite beach.
First published in *The Avocet*.
zo Nov 2015
had we wrecked
am i okay
what about him
he was there with me
we were okay
it was all fine
then something happened
i can't see
why can't i see
where is he
i reached out
he hasn't grasp me
the sails flowed with calm jerks
the wind pulled us along
but the wind has stopped
the boat does not move
the currents have changed
*am i dreaming or is that drift wood
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