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Betty Sep 7
For migrating birds
Autumn is vacation time
Lucky little birds
Mrs Timetable Aug 27
I want to get away
Get away to that place
That place with the balcony, the umbrella
And the cold sand

What if  I can’t
What if I can’t escape
Escape to that space
That place in another land

Would you please just
Just give me that touch
The escaping sensation  
Of your healing hands
Your writing hand needs a vacation anyways
wraiths Aug 7
rain is slick on
window shields and railings

and lightning like twisted fingers
reaches for the beach

i whisper a prayer
for a lone ship out in the dark

but god is silent -
his footsteps make no sound
Grace James Aug 2
Somewhere beyond the deep
is a place to which I journey
when I am asleep.

This place is neither cold nor hot,
big nor small,
near nor far,
beneath the stars.

It is a place to which I go
when I must run far, far away.
Far, far away.

Away from the circus,
away from the fear.
Away from the chaos,
away from the tears.

This place is my beckoning,
my caller, my finder.
My reminder that everything is alright
in the end.

My haven.
My truest and dearest friend.

The house by the lake
was nestled among the woods.
A crack in the winding road,
red and white and quiet.

Its windows reflected
the sparkling stream.
Like crystals dancing
in the midst of a dream.

The sounds are loud and soft
all at once.
Chickens, rowers, fishermen.
Silence, wind, sunlight
lapping at the shore.

I close my eyes to see it now.
How bright it is in my mind's eye.
Hello, my friend.
I'll be back again.

With water so blue,
the lake I knew.
b e mccomb Jul 27
i try not to
get my hopes up
too often
it’s never as good
as i convince myself
it will be

but i let myself
believe in this one
in the back of my mind
the beach

a week off work
ocean waves
hot sand
fresh fish
his birthday
where reality can’t find me

in 2019 it seemed like
a great plan
enter 2020
with it’s 99
problems but
a beach ain’t one

and so now another
year will go by
and i won’t get a chance
to leave this
humid lakelocked town
that will soon cool down
with drizzling rains and
thick white snow

people have lost
their jobs
their lives
and their sanity

and i’m doing
all right
untouched by
disaster and
richer from

so i should be
but i’m mostly just
over it

the long hours and
late nights and
going going going
busy bee

but i guess no
beaches for
like me
copyright 7/23/20 by b. e. mccomb
Colm Istoirm Jul 16
Humming by the rivers run
My feet at a loss for words most forward
Nothing is left in the wake of everything
And I’m certainly not bored
But stop
And by the meadow besideme you may see
Like water or breath
Like droplets of sunlight behind concrete cold
Or faith and love and homeruns high
I need this time like the trees need the sky
And in not knowing I
Find that I cannot breathe in this sort of life
Yesterday I went out of the city
To where the nature lives.
Where silence still exists,
And dogs run free.

In this place full of foreign life.
Me; a mere stranger trying to fit in.
I lay myself in the unmown grass,
reaching till my chin.

Feelings of a mountain range.
Free, strong, wide, calm.
A courageous beetle scouting my slopes,
A fly landing in my palm.

There are so many places to wander to,
So many countries to undress.
But  I would always go back
To being a mountain range in the grass.
Enjoy the small things
I watch the time come and go
each tock on the clock
my heart sinks deep
like a rock in the river
I poke at my dinner
like a dead rat on the street
and then I retreat to my room
feeling sappy and sorry
and for this I don’t know
I’m supposed to be peachy
but my heart is greedy
a feeling I wish I could outgrow
my mind is somewhere else
it’s by the creek running around
just feet on the grass, on the dirt, in a tree
but I’m here
not in the somewhere I want to be.
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