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ryn Dec 2014
Cradle my emotions in the gentlest of whispers
Lace my heart with sultriest of ribbons
Fill full my sail with the worthiest of winds
Engulf my being in the sweetest of notions

Colour me beautiful with the most vibrant of rainbows
Propel my universe into the farthest reaches
Soothe my aches with the most abundant love
Carry my vessel to the sandiest of beaches

Embed my thoughts within the fluffiest clouds
Let soar my dreams on the bravest of kites
Set my destination in the furthest horizons
Present me with life's buffet with the tastiest of bites
Antino Art Feb 2018
South Florida
if you were a body part,
you’d be an armpit.

You’d be a bulged vein
on the side of a forehead
forever locked in a scowl
behind sunglasses.

You speak the language of horns
middle name, finger
blood type, combustible

You're a melting ***
that's boiled over the lid
sweating salt water at the brows
eyes red as the brake lights
in the maddening brightness,
you’re torrential daylight
heating nerves like greenhouse gasses
waiting for a reason to explode.

You’re a tropical motilov cocktail
no one can afford
2 parts anger, 1 part stupidity
melting in place, thirsty for attention
full of yourself in a souvenir glass with a toothpick umbrella
You're all image

You’re the curse words breaking out the mouths
of the angry line mob at Starbucks in the morning
You’re the indifferent silence
in the arena at the Heat games leaving early,
showing up late
due to the distance
from Brickell to Hialeah,
West Palm to Pompano
the gap between the entitled and the under-paid
a skyline of condos in a third world country
You’ve always been foreign to me.

You’re winterless, no chill
you attract only hurricanes
and tourists,
shoving anything that isn’t profitable
out of the way like the Irma storm debris
into the backyards of the Liberty City projects,
onto Mount Trash Can off the side of the Turnpike
hidden beneath Bermuda grass, lined with palm trees
you’re cold blooded
crawling with iguanas
blood-******* mosquitos
parking lot ducks and people not afraid to get run over
you get yours, Soflo
and you'll go as low
as the flat roofs of your duplexes
and the incomes that can barely pay the rent to get it
latitude as attitude
temper as temperature
if you were a body part
I swear you’re an *******

south of the brain, one hour
in all directions,
I’d find you.
You’d impose your way
onto my flight to the Philippines,
to Seattle, to Raleigh
You’d follow me like excess baggage,
like gravity,
bringing me back when asked where I'm from:

That area north of Miami, I’d say
(the suburbs, but whatever, we are hard in our own way)
I'd show you off on their map
as if some badge of grit,
certificate of aggression
I know how to break a sweat
walk briskly thru Walmart parking lots, drive evasive
ride storms in my sleep
I know you, I’d say,
“He’s a friend of mine.”
and I’d watch them light up
and recount
the postcards you've sent them
of the sunrise
welcoming brown immigrants
onto white sand beaches
You were foreign to us
yet raised us as your own
in the furnace of your summers
edges sharpened, iron on iron
the forger striking softness into swords
built for survival
I'm made of you

my South Floridian anger cools down
in your ocean breeze

if you were a body part,
you'd be a part of me
a socked foot in an And1 sandal
pressed to the gas pedal
as my drive takes me north
of your borders, far from home
You in the rear view mirror
tail-gating
like a sports car on the exit ramp
the color of the sun
Anne Jul 2018
c l e a r
blue skies
the air warm
the familiar smell
of the s a l t y ocean water
the gentle crashing of the w a v e s
young children rushing down to collect shells.

happy faces
old memories
familiar feelings.

I smile at myself
at how  f- a- r
  
I’ve reached.
Dan Beyer Oct 2018
NC
Thirsty waters,
lapping at the shoreline.
on those salty beaches,
of my sweet, sweet, Caroline.
The melting horizon,
pools in the bay.
From the grey clouds of storm,
sending down their rain.
Wet and heavy clothes,
stick against our skin.
But feet, light and merry,
running in the sand.
Bison Apr 2016
There's no heart left in Los Angeles
All those screaming ascendants
Living with Beats around their necks
But nothing beating in their chests

They got beaches, buried toes in the sand
Can you feel the heat yet, fire from your hand

Yet

There's no love left in Los Angeles
Tommy Randell Feb 2017
Put Guinness on a mermaid’s tail
And it will turn to milk
Put that milk in a glass of tea
And drench away your ills

It will make all old men frisky
It will make all young men strong
And the mermaid’s tail will vanish
To give all men what they want

The seal will graze the meadow
The salmon swim the lanes
All Tax and Debts will vanish
We'll ride the gravy train

The taps will run with pennies
The pumps will pour with gold
There’ll be no lack of plenty
And the Craic will not go cold

But, should we drink this liquor
That has such a magic touch?
Could a glass so filled with wonder
Be filled with just too much?

Is Mermaid's Milk a fishy tale
Too marvellous to be true?
Have the Old Wives and the Fairies
Gone a step too far, or two?

Young men in their innocence
Old men in their prime
Should they fish the strands and beaches
Through the hours of Opening Time?

Well for the good of all the Craic
Pass the teapot down the Bar
If there's magic in the Mermaid's brew
I'll drink it by the jar

But let me never not drink porter
It's the Blood in Ireland's veins
For with Mermaid's Milk or The Guinness
My thirst is still the same.
A poem I wrote to be said at Irish Trad Music Sessions. It is my joy to play the Bodhran (drum) and recite a few tales and this one often gets me a cup of tea or two.
LexiSully Jun 2016
Shells coming and going,
Locked in to movement of the waves,
Crushed by the magnitude of their strength

They float in and out of beaches,
Leaving their mark on passersby,
Only to be forgotten with the next wave of treasures

They long to be found,
Crave to be picked up,
Ache to tell their story

Until at last, they're swept out to sea,
To the next beach which it will call home,
And into the life of another who will see its beauty.
Tufayl Myburgh Sep 2018
You are my pink skies with candy floss clouds

My open fields flooded far and wide with cherry blossoms

and green feathered sparrows singing tunes of your favourite songs that sound kinda-something-sorta like your voice,

The walls in my castle populated perfectly with portraits of you

and you already know portraits are my favourite.

Somehow my imagination bound beautifully with my reality such that I could tell no difference.

You are my Utopia.

But utopia is subject to interpretation.

You like candy floss occasionally, pink is not your favourite colour and I do not even know what your favourite flower is

Without forgetting to mention, you prefer beaches.

You like puns, peaches, foxes and fairies but my world has none of that, I want to accept those but you will not have it any other way.

I want our worlds to collide but in a more subtle way, but when that kinda thing happens it is almost always apocalyptic

So, what is yours will never be mine and what is mine you do not even want at all.

My utopia sounds like it belongs in a book, but we all know how long that lasts.




*Be sure to check out Utopian Dystopia Pt. 2!
IDK
Arke Jul 2018
when first words were exchanged
innocuous attempts to remove shirts
in the balmy summer heat
I was fallen snow, legs frozen
my mouth spoke
in metallic red and said,
in my darkest nights, it's always
your smile I see
it has always been your smile
and your countenance
in blissful dreams that delight
your essence fills
the darkest voids in both
heart and mind
I am brightened by your existence
you alone
have made me shine
when my fire faded entirely
a thousand years ago
I swear we soared
through starry night skies
and kissed on beaches before creation
with fingers laced before
bodies even existed
(though, I am ever so grateful for yours)
my eyes gave everything because
you are a boomerang of reciprocity
so see me as foolish or naive
explore my newly found optimism
because I now see colour
in our world as never before
tease and laugh and enjoy time with me
it it yours and I
exist for you
Steve Jun 2018
I’ve been thinking all of my life
I find I’m thinking still
It’s taken me all of this time
To realise I think
And I think I always will

Eternity is a lover
A friend who came to stay
Eternity is a place I’ll go
To persist
And repair the break of day

Darkness is in everything
It’s in the setting sun
Darkness is an opposite
A beginning
For when the day is done.

You’d think a thought was a prisoner
A captive of the mind
But it seems it’s fluid
Insatiable
And often hard to find

I’ve been thinking this over
I think I always will
I’ll be thinking this in buckets
On beaches
To think I’m thinking still

Those lonely thought bubbles
That pop in the sky
They're torn on clouds of despair
When thoughts are nil
And thinking, like sand, runs dry.
A lot of thought went into this!
Crown Shyness Nov 2018
Dead fish and sea salt,
ocean’s puke on rocky blackness,
once on fire, now in waves and tides,
volcano’s gut on beaches,
beaches still allowed to be in raw, naive brutality.
Left alone and honored, for their everlasting beauty,
breathing in and breathing out,
giving steady, giving steady,
for they are ready, they are ready, when you are.

The smell of rotting fish, bathed in salty home
So full of wildness, getting me *****
in my need to give birth to life.
And it is,
as if
the sea is telling me to bury my inner fish,
"Here it is,
here it is at home.
Leave it, leave it here."

It’s all coming up,
like my mouth would be beach
and my toxic gut the swarm of fishes.
It’s all coming up,
my heart a tower of black rocks
and the volcano starting to break out,
soooooooo exhausting to feel
my limit of belief.
Nassif Younes Apr 2016
We were doing that thing
Where you drink the thing
And end up saying ****** things
And not walking right.

We were sharing our nostalgia
For the things back home that we left behind -
The enchanting forests,
The scenic beaches
And the glorious mountains
That we always chose the pub over;

We were quoting the great thing-sayers:
Nietzsche, Einstein, Wilde, Freud, Kant
And many others
Whose work we will never read;

We were engaging in polite competitions
About how much we adore and admire
Our parents and partners
Who we’re always telling to go and **** themselves;

We were flexing our multicultural muscles
In conversations about how much we identify
With people from other countries
That we will never go to;

And suddenly it hit us that
Things are always never happening.
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2013
Blown by a warm south wind, I sail off to sea,
that's the path it seems that life has had for me.
Adventure whispers in my ear and calls me out it seems,
and gathers me along with all my hopes and dreams.

I dream of all the trips I'll take when life is simpler still,
and I wait to walk on beaches until I have had my fill.
I gaze into the eyes of my true love who stands here by my side,
as I watch for the rising of the sun and of the morning tide.  

I hold on to the hand of this true miracle of men,
and I'll keep him in this heart of mine until the very end.
The man I speak of truly was a gift from up above,
and I cannot live without him or without his gift of love.

He came to me a stranger, then became a steadfast friend
and led me from my misery and helped my heart to mend.
He guided me with his hand to be the woman I am now
and helped me to the place that started with a vow.

Now as the trade winds ******* I cannot help but think,
of the beauty by my side and the love that doesn't sink.
When adventure calls to me and whispers in my ear,
I cannot help but hold your hand and pray that you'll be here.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
Vicki Kralapp Sep 2018
Dark death skirts beaches in blood red,
as coffee colored swells wash in more
carnage to the shores;
we are blindly poisoning our waters.

Toxic plumes of red tide cover the seas,
beaching whales and seals,
manatees, and fishes;
we indiscriminately **** our sea life.

The brisk breeze off the Gulf
brings the smell of rotting death
that is all around;
we are blindly killing ourselves.

Our lifeblood,
the seas and its inhabitants,
slowly slip away;
we disrespect nature.

Mother earth mourns
as we continue
to ****** its inhabitants;
we are dying.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
Jordan Hudson Nov 2018
Arctic lands, cold as ice sands
Northern lights, and Midwestern brands
Malls and food are all to do
Corn fields and racing too
This is the cold zone
While the south people stay home
While we all complain
They have the better way
Factories, farms, and houses
Down there, beaches, warm weather, how could they allow this, share
The treats while we freeze and drive in the cold
They eat and walk in the heat while we burn coal
Sitting inside and getting sick
While they walk outside and swim
We suffer and regret living
They have a smile on their face while we are giving
Money just to go down there
To breathe ocean air
Only if we had that, it's not fair
Have to live it out, at least for now
I'll be leaving to go down south
Have to finish school here
And then I can leave in a few years
I hope I can make it to the sea
Where the water is warm and clean
Unlike here, where its cold and *****
Down there is where I will be
We are the ones left behind
While the rest are fine
Down by the water, right by the beach
While we are stuck next to trees
I hate living in the cold
Jim Davis Apr 2017
In the last
three decades,
after we became one,
I touched
amazingly beautiful things,
horribly **** things,  
unbelievably wondrous things

I touched nature's majesty;
hued walls of the Grand Canyon,              
crusty bark of the
Redwoods and Sequoias,
live corals of the
Great Barrier Reef,
dreamlike sandstone of the Wave

I touched magical and strange;
platypus, koalas and
kangaroos Down Under,
underwater alkali flies and
lacustrine tufa at Mono Lake,
astral glowing worms
in the Kawiti caves

I touched holy places;
Christianity's oldest churches,
the Pope's home in the Vatican,
Hindu and Sikh temples and
Moslem mosques in India,
Anasazi's kivas of Chaco canyon,
Aboriginal rocks of Uluru and Kata Tjuta

I touched glimmers of civilization;
uncovered roads of Pompeii,
fighting arenas of Rome,
terra cotta armies of Xian,
sharp stone points of the Apache,
pottery shards from the Navajo,
petroglyphs by the Jornada Mogollon

I touched fantastical things;
winds blowing on the
steppes of Patagonia,,
playas and craters of Death Valley,  
high peaks of the Continental Divide,
blazing white sands of the  
Land of Enchantment

I touched icons of liberty
and freedom;
the defended Alamo,
a fissured Liberty Bell,
an embracing Statue of Liberty,
the harbor of Checkpoints
Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie

I touched glorious things
made by man;
the monstrous Hoover Dam,
an exquisite Eiffel tower,
a soaring St Louis Arch,
an Art deco Empire State Building,
the sublime Golden Gate Bridge

I touched sparks from history;
the running path of an
Olympic flame just off Bourbon,
the last steps of Mohandas Ghandi
at Birla House before Godse,
******'s Eagle's nest and the
grounds over Der Führerbunker

I touched walls of power;
enclosed rings of the Pentagon,
steep steps of the
Great Wall of China,
untried bastions of
Peter and Paul's fortress,
fitted boulders of Machu Picchu

I touched strong hands;
of those conquering
Rommel's and ******'s hordes,
of cold warriors of
Chosin Reservoir,  
of forgotten soldiers of Vietnam,
of terrorist killers of today

I touched memories of war;
the somber Vietnam memorial,
the glorious Iwo Jima statue,
the cold slabs at Arlington,
the buried tomb of USS Arizonians,
Volgograd's Mother Russia  

I touched **** things;
shreds of light in
Port Arthur's prison,
horrible smelly dust
in the streets from 9/11,
ash impregnated dirt
in the pits at Auschwitz

I touched oppressed freedom;
open ****** plazas
of Tiananmen Square,
smooth pipe and concrete
of the Berlin Wall,  
tall red brick walls
of the Moscow Kremlin

I touched constrained freedom;
heavy ankle and
wrist ***** chains
in the South,
little windows
in Berlin's Stasi prison,
haunted cells in Alcatraz  

I touched remnants of madness;
wire and ovens of Auschwitz,
stacked chimneys and
wooden bunks of Berknau,        
Ravensbruck, and Dachau,
the tomb of Lenin,
toppled Stalins

I touched hands of survivors;
of Leningrad's siege,
of German POWs and
of Russian fighters
of Stalingrad's battle,
of Cancer's scourges  

I touched grand things;
deep waters of the Pacific and Atlantic,
blue hills of Appalachia,
towering peaks of the Rockies,
high falls of Yosemite Valley,
bursting geysers of Yellowstone,
crashing glaciers of Antarctica and Alaska    

I touched times of adventure;
abseiling and zipping in Costa Rica,
packing Pecos wilds and Padre isles,
flying nap of earth Hueys to Meridian,
breaking arms in JRTC's box,
fighting Abu Sayyaf, and Jemaah
Islami in Zamboanga City

I touched through you;
wet sand beaches of  Mexico and Jamaica,
mysterious energy of the monoliths of Stonehenge,
rarefied air in front of the
Louvre's Mona Lisa,
ancient wonders of Giza,
Egypt's tombs and pyramids

We shared soft touches;
drifting in Bora Bora's
surreal waters,
joining hands camel trekking the
Outback's dry sands,
strolling along Tasmania's
eucalyptus forest trails

basking in swinging hammocks
under Fiji's bright sun,
scrambling in
Las Vegas' glittering and
red rock canyons,
kissing under the
Taj Mahal's symphony of arches

We shared touching deep waters;
propelled in gondolas
through the city of canals,
Drifting atop Uru cat boats on Lake Titticaca,
Swooping in jet boats
up a wild river in Talkeetna

Racing in speed boats
around Sydney's great harbour,
skimming in pangas in Puerto Ayora,
paddling the Kennebec for
East's best petroglyphs,
cruising Salzbergwerk's underwater lake

We touched scrumptious things;
Beignets and chicory coffee at DuMonde's in the Big Easy,
Hot *** with sesame sauce
in the walled city of Xian,
Peking duck, dimsum, scorpions,
snake and starfish on Wangfujing Snack Street

We touched delicious things
Crawfish heads and tails at JuJu's shack
and ten years at Jeanette's,
Langoustine at Poinciana's, Fjöruborðinus and Galapagos,
Cream cheese and loch bagels
at Ess-a' s in the Big Apple

I touched your hand riding;
hang loose waves of Waikiki,
a big green bus in Denali's awesomeness,
clip clopping carriages of Vienna, Paris,
Prague, New Orleans, Krakow,
Quebec City, and Zakopane,
the acapella sugar train of St Kitts

We shared touching on paths;
the highway 1 of Big Sur,
the Road of the Great Ocean,
the bahn to Buda and Pest,
the path to the North of Maine,
the trail of the Hoh rainforest,
and time after time, the way home

Yet,
I could spend
the next three decades,
in simple bliss,
having need for
touching nothing,
other than you!

©  2016 Jim Davis
A poem I wrote last year for my wife!  Posted now since it matches the HP' theme for today - "Places"
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2018
Songs of Oregon: No. 1 “Gonna Make You Crazy, That Place”

nuts, crazy peeps

whomever wherever,
regardless of race creed color or gender (did I get ‘em all?)
current state of residence (geo-identified)
a poem - the very same recited,
as a disclaimer, a yellow finger wagging warning:

“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”

now kids, I’m a veteran of foreign travel,
many continents, cold and hot, rivers and seas,
some living, some dead,
some so big they named it Endless,
been to the great cities, Swiss villages,
pyramids, climbed Masada,
danced on grapes (why can’t I recall where)
skied the Alps, trekked the Sinai Desert,
clubbed in Rio, and danced till morn,
on a certain Greek Isle that rhymes with Mickey’s Nose
even been to L.A and San Fran, left poorer
but in sync,
always came home
with my mind decently reshaped

me/ a product of gritty unpretty grime,
streets of normal humans
acting like normal escaped mad persons,
this brutal city island instilled a
layer of fat and smog neath my skin,
a kind of migrating duck-like survival kit,
came with a homing beacon included

the those of you who know me,
perhaps too well, ken we citified islanders
love our beaches (fire hydrants)
cherish our sun dappled blessings
upon on farms (window sill herb gardens)
and sunning settlements (rooftops)

they say our tap water is secretly bottled,
sold in places where the springs purportedly
run crystalline

though we don’t got no pinot, just sweet concord grape,
so sweet, the wine of children and street nodders,
needy for instant sugar highs

so as we new Yorkers proudly
say on our license plates,
prove it or stfup!

so a first hand investigation for which
the taxpayers won’t be charged even a lousy mill,
deemed necessary to put to rest this crazy claiming warning

“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”

guessing must be something in the water and the wine
Aaron Combs Dec 2018
This, this letter I made you, let it pierce your heart,
like the silver moon earrings, I gave you,

Let me hold you on high.
Let me hold you on high.

Like the Kansas fields that outnumber the stars,
let's walk on the wheat fields of gold, for even
if I can't forgive you, my heart will freely love you.

Over and over,

like red Georgia Peaches,  like Florida Beaches
let me be the one for you.

Everything passes on,  so let not the venom of angels,
whisper us away ,

(they're just droplets of cold rain. (cold rain)  

Now like Chicago, let me sing you into fame
until every knows your name, let me sing, let me sing.

Embrace me, like a California dream, pretend it's just me,
like the ring on your finger, let me be, let me be,
the one and only, like your silver moon earrings.

For if you harden your heart, lets go back to one,
let me be like your silver moon earrings,

let me hold you on high.
let me hold you on high.
For her
L Nov 2018
For all the empty promises, the crocodile tears, the anger, the emotions in general. For the tears, and the hurt, and the longing. For the good times along with the bad times. For the adventures and the laughter and the prancing and the frolicking.

For the beaches and the overlooks and the rollercoasters and and the drugs and the beer and the shenanigans. For the casinos and the hotel rooms, for the crazy people and the jokes we made about them. For all of it.

I love you
CK Baker Aug 2017
Manning up in Texas
Geldof overdose
needles at the bed stand
starlet comatose

California dreaming
killer meets demise
hurling in a taxi
puke fee on the rise

Fighting in the Gaza
Jordan's holy war
rebels on a mission
Jihad underscore

The North Korean riddle
pales in grand design
crisis on the border
planes fall from the sky

Cooking on a deadline
tempting tapenades
herbs are in the spotlight
wines that give a nod

Google maps the body
DOW at record highs
Uber comes to market
corn is on the rise

Apple on its earnings
Caterpillar dead
European sanctions
banks have **** the bed

Clippers threaten boycott
Longhorns follow purge
Lynch is out of training camp
James is on the verge

Leinart taking *** shots
coughing up a lung
lions take a licking
fans are throwing dung

Another day in Vegas
Primm from A-Z
rolling out an ankle
a flying SUV

Quiet tempting spaces
made better by design
multi color pea coat
silence fuels the mind

Stabbing in the subway
goat caught in a well
apes are selling tickets
(but leave behind a smell)

Puberty on trial
a man without a head
teachers feel alone
lets take them to the shed!

Jonah's tomb destroyed
wreckage in Mumbai
Sugar Daddy sites
Freedom 85

The immigrant debate
Russia's mounting toll
unions on a mission
heads are gonna roll

Beaches for the nudists
hotels on the cheap
the best generic brands
a list you have to keep!

Planning your estate
questions from the camp
a mansion up for sale
where once they filmed The Champ

Midwives threaten action
aboriginal act
truckers want concessions
that train has left the track

Sharks are found in Fundy
a prized but perilous catch
food we love to hate the most
an irrefutable batch

A family on the brink
I want my kids to fail!
politicians drains all hope
a ban on Israel

Follow out each headline
let the columns be your guide
all these things did happen
the day that Newhouse died
Tara Jan 23
The ocean,
oh it looked so blue,
shades of colour swimming around like clouds around the moon,

The water,
oh it looked so clean,
but it was just the sun's reflection making it clear,

Underneath the waves lay a graveyard,
a promise of death,
a promise of extinction,

Tombs made of plastic,
slathered in oil,
steaming with toxic waste,
and all the people know,

The damage is unfolding faster than we are evolving,

The turtles are ingesting plastic as if it were their only meal,
begging for their fins to just be free,
so they can dive through the sea,

The seals are tangled in nets, lines and lures,
plastic bags and packing bands,
till they're tied to their grave as if life were just a brief phase,

The seabirds skim the ocean waves for fish and squid,
yet plastic is their only catch of the day,
leaving them broken inside and out,
and dead on the beaches we claim are our own,

The whales are submerged beneath the sea,
eating most things that they see,
plastic, plastic everywhere beneath,
not giving them much time before they can no longer breathe,

The dolphins are gliding through the sea,
taking what they can to eat,
plastic as their only meal,
tearing them apart from within,
leaving them starving for weeks,
till the grave is the only thing they see,

Us humans are so weak,
we can’t see how deep the pain seeps,
but when nothing is left for us to eat,
and the rich have nothing left to steal,
we’ll end in the same graves as all the lives we could have healed.
Not all was what it seemed
Those dreams were never real
The night lights shone
Then faded like the moon.

City streets were crowded
People busy with there lives
All seemed normal to the eye
Who could see behind the scene.

1938 crowded parks and beaches full
Ice cream stands and punch and Judy men
Normality was all that children knew
Family's made plans unaware of what lay ahead.

Summer days flowers displayed there colours
Work for dad.and children going to school
Christmas time and snow covering the ground
Another festive time was there with celebrations.

The summer time of 39 stormy days ahead
Young boys 18 plus answered to the country's call
Not realising adventure was never there at all
They lied about their age .in search of that adventure.

So six long years they fought and died
The survivers came home with open eyes
Seeing the world for what it was there youth denied.
The storm now over they now faced the calm.

Time to move on now the war days had gone
They found work and learned a trade
Those night lights shone once more
And the city streets filled with happy times again.

1945 the years move on the past now history
It was a time to rebuild a future of hope
And to find the will to carry on
Back too the beeches sands and the ice cream man.
I saw a documentary showing how it was just before
The second world war .People seemed to live normal lives
Holliday's on the beech enjoying city life carrying on life as normal
Unaware how things could change so fast.
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