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Norman Crane Sep 17
see the mirror mirror the sea
thyme scents sense time
me and you sleeping sleep in you and me
waves disquiet these quiet ways
and continents wear down down where continents end
barques dock while wild dogs bark
at oars or at
redcurrants, sand beaches, beeches and recurrence
our morning mourning hour
terns whirled there / their world turns
The challenge here was to create a poem in which each line is itself plus its sonic reflection (see the mirror / mirror the sea). The theme was the seaside.
Jennifer May 28
i’ll remember the sound of the
ocean gently lapping the shore, and
the sound of birds chirping - which birds
i can’t be sure -
i’ll remember my feet blistering, and the
taste of red wine
i’ll remember the blue 10pm sky
and two magpies giving a

most of all i’ll remember the restless
joy that i feel, my yearning that reels,
my eagerness to escape and
my emotions, slowly taking
she ceased
seaside shell sales
seeing as she suffered
several severe seizures
sitting supposedly safely
by the seashore
inspired by a lyric in the pagan babies (band courtney love was in) song best sunday dress - "No more seizures by the sea"
Lily Audra Feb 12
When I cycle without holding the handlebars on my bike,
I wonder if I look arrogant,
Like a bit of a *****,
In winter I don't care
because as I let go
and straighten my back and lift my arms and open my mouth and breathe in the sea
I feel like a butterfly or a comorant or a bumble bee lifting and gliding and riding winter up and up and up,
I feel like a tiny yellow light has been lit like a candle at the base of my spine and the soft warmth from it is thawing my body from my ribs to fingers.

Winter wants to hurt me,
At least it feels that way,
Put a bag over my head and expect me to smile,
My scarf is making my neck sweaty and itchy and I'm sick of it,
The ice is creeping deep and deeper into my head,
Whispering words I thought I'd buried.

In books set against snowy backdrops with whisky in pubs and cable knit jumpers and hands to mouths,
Winter is warm and bubbling with atmosphere,
And though I've seen glimpses and sipped on spicy *** and given myself red wine teeth and sore fingers from sitting outside and laughed until my belly ached,
Today it just feels cold
Colder than cold,
Cold and hollow,

Unless I'm riding my bike with no handlebars and looking at the sea.

Have you seen faded flowers in the night?
Where an unknown heart got burnt at moonlight.

Would they wrap pale sunlight?
Allowing petals to sneak into a treasure box.
She lay in her chamber in the sea mountain side..
Fire flame burns the window green...
Wooden floor danced on crystal glasses..
The wind rushes out of the cloud by night,
Stabbing and poking her, Madam Huang
Of those who were wiser than us---
Of many far talents than us---
Pray, neither for the angels in Heaven above
Nor the devil down under the tunnel
For the moon sunk in late November
Without interpreting her wonders, she left the sea bank,
Tears can ever dissolve her stories within the stories
Of the sorrowful Madam Huang
When the stars have not risen,
They gather in the chamber by the sea.
A falling star shining in the far and burst,
a bolide flames transmitted Requiem finale.
Of the sorrowful Madam Huang
May the sky award true colours of the dying night.

Silent prayers are kneeling there, they seemed to share the shame
Prior to breathing out the crispy air of Late November.
She asked him once Her name.

Of the sorrowful Madam Huang
from the chamber in the sea mountain.
By Angel.XJ 23/11/2019
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
On islands of the tropics sweetly sets
over poignant scented bistros and tide
on a rich apricot, painted canvas
a gentle warmth for winter's hostile chide

As bare footed limps deep into the sand
To chirps, to giggles; crashing surf so glad
Briskly washing away all memory
of the wintered homage of Avon's bard

A pale mat lays hush, as red kites ascend
to prey in vast fields of his frigid shire
From a window's sill, his eyes thus pretend
A sonnet on the seaside's to retire

Seldom he escapes winter's icy grip
Shakespeare seaside sonnet: a mental trip
A sonnet for my friends in their winter estate
Jade C Oct 2019
the waves bend and never break
I catch a glimpse of them through a telescope
a red dot against marbled teal

the gravel that frames the sea
     crackles and turns
mirroring the moon

consumed by a raincoat
they are not a body
but rather
     a sea-tossed shard of glass with grainy

their eyes are sharp and      translucent
reminiscent of a reflective tide pool
pupils are sea anemone

I wonder where they goes when the sea levels rise
Do I dare interrupt their stone stacking
to inquire:
"can you do a bowline on a bight?"

we walk the splintery plank
hand in hand
a seagull weaving between our steps

one pulsating heart in a wind that mutes
our breath
we beg that the sea sweep us underneath

that it anchor us as eternal lovers
that it fossilize our tenderness for one

I see you in a telescope
a red dot against marbled teal
and      the cliff beneath my toes

clams cry and unhinge
their jaws
we dive in perfect form
and become

a lover's ornament
on the
abyssal plain
Nigdaw Jul 2019
I can hear the noise of the world, always
In my ears, like the sea never leaves the shell,
No matter how far travelled by a beachcomber
Who takes their souvenir home.
No matter how far I roam, the world follows up
It’s chaotic tone, voices shouting, ringing phones,
Cars with car horns rushing to be late
Somewhere they really don’t want to go.
Fools, vagabonds, gypsies, businessmen, wives
Police and thieves, cannot escape the gravitational
Drag of the world on their destiny.
I can hear the swish of their existence in my sleep
It never leaves me, like the restless tide it creeps.
Daniel Jul 2019
An ocean away in Colwyn bay,
a glamorous stranger is looking my way
tilting her head and lifting her shades,
her furrowing features are meeting my gaze

Shamelessly eyed from a platform away
As if she had something important to say
Then turning around with a curious frown,
she starts back towards her familiar town

To elegant houses of ashlar and brick
A terrace of Gothic adornments and frills
Victorian angles and white window sills,
becoming the specks which are dotting the hills

A town held aloft by a battered plateau
and anchored to ocean by columns of stone
A picturesque coastline, a spring getaway
The home of a stranger, her postcard landscape

The rattle of metal and the wheels over rails
The men wearing colours are starting to wave
My thoughts turning back to that taciturn dame
The din of the train means I'm pulling away
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