#oceansoul - Hello Poetry

Waves roll restless on the midnight shore, Tides whisper secrets of forevermore. Silver moonlight paints the drifting sea, Calling old memories back to me. The wind speaks softly through the darkened air, Of love once lost, yet still somewhere. Beneath the stars where shadows softly glide, My soul drifts gently with the tide.

0

6d ago

May 28, 2026 at 5:14 AM UTC

LongJohnPaulBaldry

Moonlit Whispers

Waves roll restless on the midnight shore, Tides whisper secrets of forevermore. Silver moonlight paints the drifting sea, Calling old memories back to me. The wind speaks softly through the darkened air, Of love once lost, yet still somewhere. Beneath the stars where shadows softly glide, My soul drifts gently with the tide.

8

Dawn doesn’t knock. It breathes—slow, silver. He’s already there. Boots in mud. Hands remembering. He casts— not just a line, but a life— wide into the quiet where hope swims unseen. 🐟 Stillness teaches. Not spoken— silent conscious Morning stretches. Sun rising without asking. He waits. Because he knows— the river answers when it wants. 🐟 Mist rolls in. Boats drift—ghostlike. Between cast and pull he feels them— the ones before him. Every ripple— a voice whispers. Every current— a named. 🐟 By noon— light fractures water. Scales flash. Brief— then Gone. He lifts the catch— not pride, just survival. A quiet agreement between man and tide. 🐠 But the sea— doesn’t whisper. It roars. Lines snap. Hooks bite. He stands—small, stubborn— against something that doesn’t care. Here, courage is quiet. It stays. 🎣 Rain falls. No warning. Soaks him through. Still—he doesn’t move. Each drop— a beginning. The sky reminding him— you belong to this. 🎣 Night softens everything. Moonlight—silver skin on water. Just him. The line. The pull beneath. No loneliness here. Only whole. Dreams tug gently. He listens with both hands. 🌙🎣 An old man waits at the shore— or becomes him. Stories in bone. Salt and skin. He speaks less now. But when he does— even water listens. 🪶 And still— he casts. Through empty nets. Through full ones. Through years. This is more than fishing. It’s inheritance. It’s healing. It’s words written in water. 🌊 Sunset bleeds gold. He doesn’t count fish. He counts moments. Balance. Breath. Space between casts. 🌅 Hands worn—steady. He reels in more than a day. He reels in a life. Lived— fully— on the edge of the endless tide. 🌊🐟 By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)

0

Mar 26

Mar 26, 2026 at 5:03 AM UTC

LongJohnPaulBaldry

Cast Into the Living Tide

Dawn doesn’t knock. It breathes—slow, silver. He’s already there. Boots in mud. Hands remembering. He casts— not just a line, but a life— wide into the quiet where hope swims unseen. 🐟 Stillness teaches. Not spoken— silent conscious Morning stretches. Sun rising without asking. He waits. Because he knows— the river answers when it wants. 🐟 Mist rolls in. Boats drift—ghostlike. Between cast and pull he feels them— the ones before him. Every ripple— a voice whispers. Every current— a named. 🐟 By noon— light fractures water. Scales flash. Brief— then Gone. He lifts the catch— not pride, just survival. A quiet agreement between man and tide. 🐠 But the sea— doesn’t whisper. It roars. Lines snap. Hooks bite. He stands—small, stubborn— against something that doesn’t care. Here, courage is quiet. It stays. 🎣 Rain falls. No warning. Soaks him through. Still—he doesn’t move. Each drop— a beginning. The sky reminding him— you belong to this. 🎣 Night softens everything. Moonlight—silver skin on water. Just him. The line. The pull beneath. No loneliness here. Only whole. Dreams tug gently. He listens with both hands. 🌙🎣 An old man waits at the shore— or becomes him. Stories in bone. Salt and skin. He speaks less now. But when he does— even water listens. 🪶 And still— he casts. Through empty nets. Through full ones. Through years. This is more than fishing. It’s inheritance. It’s healing. It’s words written in water. 🌊 Sunset bleeds gold. He doesn’t count fish. He counts moments. Balance. Breath. Space between casts. 🌅 Hands worn—steady. He reels in more than a day. He reels in a life. Lived— fully— on the edge of the endless tide. 🌊🐟 By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)

112

— a west wind whisper, a salt-soaked song — … L ☁︎ ~~~ J … Zephyrs… they dance upon the waves— not gently, no… but alive stirring salty sprays into the air like laughter you didn’t know you needed … L ☁︎ ~~~ J … Look— zigzagging seagulls cutting through sky-script sharp, hungry, free no maps no limits just instinct and wind … L ☁︎ ~~~ J … And the light— the way it fractures across the water… zigzags of sun scattered gold on an endless blue while beneath— dolphins flash zooming joy through the deep like living arrows of purpose … L ☁︎ ~~~ J … Listen… the zephyrs they whisper to tides to time to everything that comes and goes and at night— a billion… no… zillions of stars spill themselves across the sea’s wide breath … L ☁︎ ~~~ J … Somewhere— Zanzibar… a shoreline that exhales peace palm trees preening in slow, sunlit vanity sand kissed again and again by wandering wind … L ☁︎ ~~~ J … And music— can you hear it? not played… but carried zithers in the breeze notes stitched into salt air while far off— yachts drift like unfinished dreams hovering between horizon and hope … L ☁︎ ~~~ J … The sails— they lean they listen guided not by force but by feeling by that same zephyr returning softer now— a lullaby tucking the ocean into night … L ☁︎ ~~~ J … But don’t be fooled— the cliffs still stand jagged zigzagged unyielding and the waves— they crash with zest with fury with forever in their lungs … L ☁︎ ~~~ J … And somehow— in all that chaos there is… zen … L ☁︎ ~~~ J … because the sea— it is wild it is restless it is endless and still… it knows how to hold a moment of peace … L ☁︎ ~~~ J … and I— I stand here salt in my breath wind in my bones watching listening belonging … L ☁︎ ~~~ J … because this— this zealous roaring whispering living thing— … L ☁︎ ~~~ J … this sea… is mine to adore … L ☁︎ ~~~ J … By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)

0

Mar 22

Mar 22, 2026 at 5:05 AM UTC