"oceanside" poems
I walked along the sandy beach with a crisp breeze gliding through my hair,
I gazed out into the crystal clear water and thought about life.
I thought about how my life was like that ocean...vast and open.
I thought about all the people that have swam in that ocean and in
turn, swam through my life.
The people who just stuck their tiny toes into my great unknown, but
found the water too warm or too chilled. The people that dove in
without understanding the full complexity of navigating the unmapped
depths of my humanity and in turn, quickly fled for shore.
Finally, the people that waded gently into that great wide open found
that, when done at a resonable pace, the water was just fine.
These were the swimmers that have been coming back to the beach for a
long time now, and these were the ones I liked having around.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 11:59 AM UTC
Before I close my eyes ... Before I drift away ...
fallow as the evanescent tide grows low;
before the falling sun echoes
upon shown waves of estranged sandbars
Before I draw this life’s ending breath ...
as beclouding skies ache like a windswept shoreline
kissed by a bitter sweet gale of love and misery
beget a chilling spell cast of invisible winds of change
Before you no longer remember ...
the way the song a gentle wind's caress
swirls and sweeps away bare feet
set free to soar beyond the reach of your eyes
Before these eyes see the final sunset tiptoe down the sky ...
even the sun feels the dimming in its wake ;
unrequited footprints in the sand course straightaway,
never turning around to look back whence they came
Before another tide floods a deserted oceanside ...
erasing the traces of where we danced naked as the dark
glimpsing the diminishing horizon ―
and I let go .........
as the tears steal away the last glint of the sea
The way you took your love from me ...
© harlon rivers ... May15th, 2017
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 12:41 PM UTC
I feel the cold bites, mittened children yell
they’re sewing sky flowers as they run with yellow or red kites
ocean makes that great space with tides that linger over the rocks
we fashion nothing like the clouds and feel small
As storms build up I walk a coastal trail
where ashes of an old beach fire left roasted pinecones littered
an Osprey flies up above the shore’s edge
and as I read your book, I feel the restless melody in your poems
Tides flap and slop against sand the color of worn concrete
ocean’s spoiled lives permeate everything, my skin tastes sea salt gargle
gulls and passersby all watch the waves moving towards us
I’m lingering here for too long and return to my car
clicking heels behind me in the parking lot
the castanets of other lives with their importance
arouse such unpleasant thoughts, I walk back down to the beach
hurrying until I no longer hear their rhythm
But now the fog rolls in and the ground is covered with wings
all the doors are locked when the sky drops down like this
thunder knocks in the distance saying ‘“celebrate!”
its echoes wake the clouds, rain gives an answer with applause
on the threshold of storm I turn away from the ocean and look east
a forested mountainside crowded with fading painted houses abandoned
a single car on the road with headlights, we have hundreds of days of rain here
in other words, most people forget anything but rainy weather
the chill from Alaska reaches down only in gusts but snow is distant
This Sunday when Netarts bay is full of kayaks and fishing boats
Oceanside’s patch of beach is strewn with sea grass, people with their dogs
walk amongst shed crab shells, a lone restaurant opens selling coffee and pies
none of the people in rain slickers and hoodies move off as the rain falls
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 12:31 AM UTC
I have only seen myself as a beautiful artwork once in my life,
It had been the advent lovely Spring of sweet sixteen,
There is a photo of someone else’s mind in which I am the subject, rife
With calculated gorgeousness, the white blouse and powder blue skirt
And I had been wearing black ballet flats; a day upon my feet had left me hurt
But the enchanted, oil forest before me had healed my eyes and entranced me
That pose, holding onto myself with ribbons in my hair, someone could see
A beauty that which I have never known since.
Into the heart of the Prince
Into the hearts of all the folk for she was a fairy tale heroine,
Cinderella, lovely lady of ashes, had glass slippers
And upon such toity-toity footwear, she had slipped
Yet, it had been such fragility that would unite her with her love
Will I be united with such grace, such love for myself, if I hold onto my ballet flats?
After all, I have not once seen this grace, such love for my own self since sweet sixteen
Since the foolhardy winds of chilly, oceanside Spring;
Where upon the Museum modern, I saw myself as timeless artwork
Admired and appreciated by all; much like the lovely lady of ashes whose slippers
Have walked her beloved soul into the hearts of all; into the best of time
Yet, these beloved shoes of mine
Have seen so much better of time
For I can see through the soles wherein holes
Have shown where I have worn my own souls
In bitter wanderings and light-hearted adventure; so many type of walk
For a single lass, I could not talk
Of all the places and thoughts these shoes have led me astray within
Of the beauty that had once sunken in
How am I to part?
How am I to part with such faithful companions through all my wanderings of
Yonder years soon to come asunder as I am no longer sweet sixteen,
As I am no longer before entrenched trees of oil, elevated in buildings upon
A chilly, Springtime by the sea I’ve only known in passing afternoon
In black ballet flats; not unlike the glass gussied slippers of lovely cinders
Am I not unlike Cinderella?
For whom would she be if she had not received the night of her life
As carried upon the fragile spurned glass of her magic slippers
For whom had reunited her with her love, the foot fetishist Prince;
Lovely lady of ashes would be just that: lady of ashes,
Worked to beyond the bone; dressed in rags, head in clouds,
Dreaming of opportunity squandered in her slippers of magic glass
She would be like me.
She would be like me, contemplating her toes in birdsong prose
She would be like me, wondering when she would feel as refined as a classic artwork
A beautiful timeless painting with grace and poise without rival supposed
If I part with these worn soles which have born my souls cross
My journeys long, will I ever be at loss
Over mine own image rendered beautiful: my own body rendered beautiful to my eyes?
How can such skin-deep bliss exist without my black ballet flats?
How will mine own eyes recognise my beauty
If it were not for dainty small feet slotted into impractical, magical glass slippers
In want of my dear and precious black ballet flats.
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 6:53 PM UTC
*Commanding the 'Crows Nest' in search of submarines on Panama City Beach
Our curiosity in real time demand , blanket oceanside Admiralty
Mariners were towing the ocean yachts into portland that day
Tales of Neptune , ambergris , running *** and rough sail
Riding the easterlies , filling our shell pails
A prize for gifted imaginations indeed , sand dollars and -
cirrus clouds above the warm turquoise Sea* .....
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 7:53 PM UTC
True as the oceanside bonfires ..
Embers that parlay their very existence ,
at mercy of Poseidon's petulant expanse ..
Gale-borne , maritime id ...
Devout seafarers in perpetual , celestial
navigation ..
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 11:52 PM UTC
chasin' one another
in the sand...
we're barefoot...
splashin' as we run...
oh no, you've caught me...
(or did I let you?)
once again,
you take me in your arms...
we collapse in the sand,
along the oceanside...
we're listenin' to the waves
and the seagulls cry...
darkness is embracin'
the night...
you and I,
starin' into the star-filled sky;
we're givin' each one a new name...
before too long;
you take me
by the hand,
pullin' me intimately
alongside you...
kissin' me with such
a passion...
"ohh mmm"
savorin' these moments...
as we're longin' to become
as one...
2008
COPYRIGHT; Sabrina Denise Healey,
~Angelmom~
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 6:49 PM UTC
I can be your better half,
You can be my main squeeze.
We can keep this light hearted
And go with the salty breeze
That blows along the oceanside;
We'll flow like the waves flow free-
Come be my main man,
Come be my one and only.
I'll be your balancing act,
You'll be my rationality,
So long that it includes you-
Together is how we should be.
We can stay in or go out,
We can go anywhere actually,
So long that you're coming along,
Promise you'll be right next to me.
Come be my main man,
I'll be your main squeeze.
You're the perfect fit, you see-
We fit together with such ease.
Come and stay awhile,
There's no rush to leave.
We look so good together,
To this I believe.
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 2:38 AM UTC
You with your bedroom eyes
Soulful, piercing and wise
Raw emotion
And total devotion
Your Hemingway jawline
And your bottle half full of wine
Substance overcomes shyness
But it never oversteps your kindness
A smile that can break millions
Unfortunately you've captured the heart of a civilian
There is a distance
That makes me lean towards the path of least resistance
Since Baby, we're living on borrowed time
Waiting on that day where you can finally be mine.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 2:37 AM UTC
I didn’t want to go in but you convinced me that it was a must.
We live the essence of the shop; we are the year-round tourists.
The aisles were too close and you weren’t enough. My sunburnt
shoulders touched hanging cotton and beads and masks and I tried
on that skimpy sequined top that made me look like a popstar. You
said, ooh la la. You said, say something to me in French [Je ne t’aime
plus.] Then laughed, wandering toward the snow globes. You held
it with such care and I wanted to be kissed in one, one that you held,
precarious, in your goofy hands. With cuticles I always try and
push back, like you with the wisps in my face. But why, *your eyes
are the oceanside town and I want to put them in the snow globe*,
you said while watching the fake flakes fall.
Jul 18, 2012
Jul 18, 2012 at 11:11 AM UTC
Crumbling concrete screens at the old drive-in
reminiscent of an era bygone.
Progress is our god
we've no time for nostalgia.
California moves too quickly for sentiment;
what's past is past, and is no more.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 2:35 AM UTC
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Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 3:37 AM UTC
There once was a woman from Oceanside,
Who took me to Heaven,
though I never died.
Like an angel she sings,
though I've never seen wings.
In all the times I've examined her backside.
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 7:41 AM UTC
The hardest pill to swallow is knowing
that I did it to myself.
I can try to say that over stated/ cliche line:
"In the end, it was probably
for the best."
but the truth is, that it doesn't help.
My mind cannot help but wander and drift to the thoughts of you.
Your skin illuminated by moonlight.
The way you would hold me close and say goodnight.
The way we laughed and talked about the future.
About how much you were my pride.
I use to find so much peace by the oceanside,
but for the first time in my life I found that same peace
standing right next to me.
You make me feel alive.
My mom said that you were the best for me
because you brought life back to my eyes.
I always hated the city,
but seeing the joy it brought you made me want
to spend every moment I could with you.
The way you would grab my hand and lead me to
all of those special moments that you wanted to share,
and if I could, in a moment I would be right back there.
I took you for granted.
There are no apologies that I could ever pen
to help you to understand how much
I would go back and do everything over again.
I just wish that I could make you see that
you are the only oceanside I need.
If my heart is an anchor, then your heart is the sea;
for my heart longs to be weighed down to yours
for this life and all of
eternity.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 4:33 AM UTC
There are days when the rage I prayed to dissipate somehow finds its way from the deep secluded corners of my brain and throws itself violently onto the blank pages of my notebook.
It's always on those days when I hear the Oceanside call my name but I refrain from seeing her because I am far too occupied with chipping myself away at this deadend job that doesn't provide the way that I need it to pay.
It's always on the days when I can't reach her shore that I ***** myself to this imitation of peace. To all the things I want but know it will never satisfy the need to feel that cool ocean breeze, the smell of seaweed and that saltwater against my feet.
There is no place in the valley for a boy who fell in love with the ocean and left his heart at sea.
Like can't you see that the only time I feel whole is when all the broken pieces that make up me is standing on that cliffside. Apart from filling out my blank pages and pouring my heart out onto these stages, that cliffside will always be home.
There is not a day that I'm away that I don't sit and think about the power of the waves. Do you ever think about the power of the waves? How they come in, crash and carry all of my burdens, pain and frustration away. God I just want to get away.
I will always sit up on that cliffside in a mystery as I gaze out upon your vast deep blue see and wonder how in the midst of my chaos, that you are somehow my peace.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 2:10 PM UTC
so much
remember how we got really very lost in st. augustine, and ended up finding somewhere beautiful on unfamiliar beaches, smoking a bowl next to a oceanside bar dimly lit with christmas lights that was playing one good song after another?
remember how you looked at me the first time we intertwined, alone, laid in big fields, and i noted, how your eyes looked like the freshest honey? the air was full of blossoming love
last night i rolled into you and my head fit right into the nook where your arm meets your shoulder. i said, you are like markham park in the winter time. seeing you is like seeing the excitement i had when i first saw snow, and oh how i expected it to resemble big asterisks falling from bloated clouds, because i live in florida, and that’s all i’d seen.
the bitter cold that settles into a comfortable warmth once you slip on another layer leaves me in a satiated daze. my eyes well up with the thought of you. memories of our shared existence streak past my cheeks and drip off my jaw.
we were laying on the floor.
i jolted and you embraced me.
it was night, and i rubbed your nose, just like my favorite song said to do.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC
lonely children with minds of killers
take walks in the darkest nights
looking for someone to cling to
searching for a hand to hold
although I was ambitious
my father said don't go
but I've been trapped
within these garden gates
since I was eight years old
since my mother
ran away from here
but little did she know
her baby was a homocidal,
teenage, messed up soul
and my sister is much older now
she has made it on her own
found love with her high school sweetheart
each good deed makes my heart
cold
now I'm laying in my bedroom
shotgun at my side
wondering, "when will I get better?"
leave my body
by the oceanside
-i.s.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
My bare feet tread upon soft, dampened sand
toe-trails follow me along the shoreline & stones rest within my hand.
I gaze out upon the angry, pale sea
yet even in her times of melancholy, she beckons me
I wade in to my ankles, strip my clothing to the skin
her waves, a sirens song gently pulls my soul in.
Chest deep, the icy sting of her watery tendrils
send me shaking from within
I still push farther on,
I am among the waves but stone cold porcelain
I shut my eyes, & give body to her mercy
for my soul will never feel this whole again.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
I wish up the falling mountainside
scree rolling past in foams a tide
wishing down against
as if my purpose was the act
to counteract
or along a barreling oceanside in
frost and high noon
above a relinquishing patchwork of sky
me harvesting shells drinking rain
walking until
the dive into whatever else which is
not art nor love-song nor peace
but for all their origin before they became
word and I this quiet man
inexpressible desire
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 12:13 AM UTC
Even pretty faces need a mind to enamour the soul.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 2:03 AM UTC
I'm thinking of a week
you and I
on a sugar beach
where every thing is sand, or sways, or blue
except you and I
making love on an oceanside lanai
where the only thing we are denied
is a phone call from home or office.
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 5:03 PM UTC
Eyelids lower,
everything turns dark;
breaths become slower,
a soundless spark.
Thoughts fall like raindrops,
I hear them bounce off the roof.
Mist blankets mountaintops,
fern-frosted hearts are not shatterproof.
Our minds are mirrors,
they reflect what we see,
a silver window of Reality glitters,
a broken teacup, a fragment of me?
Souls swim in airy dusk.
blood pushes a noonday tide.
for our bodies to dissipate in cosmic dust,
a Heaven forever by the oceanside.
You are my Infinite in one being;
you dream no beginning and no end.
in the lake between sun and moon sleeping,
stars float to the riverbend.
Wake before the sunrise,
colors wash the sky vast as love.
light meets new eyes
painting the undreamed of…
Breathe the morning in,
my longing eclipsed my heart.
kaleidoscope sun warms my skin,
every day we restart
...
My creation starts yours,
kundalini vagus soul nerve is the force.
we expand when breath swirls,
earth and art in one source
...
My hands begin to shake,
like constellations all are connected.
If I lose my grip the painting will quake,
ripples of world within worlds reflected
...
I remember you in a glass mind,
down a crystallized hallway, consciousness clearest
elements fade as nature undoes time,
our death unified by the spirits
…
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 12:58 PM UTC
That morning Glory
Which children spread.
Over earth and sky,
Lingers like secret sunshine.
Permeating a multitude of roofs,
A multitude of rooms.
On oceanside grey,
Their precious feet tread.
Bringing refresh of light,
With every laugh.
I gaze at the sand,
With remnant proof that
Children of light walked here.
When I am still,
The Wind brings me
Whisper of their joy.
Giggling brooks,
Shining stars,
Vibrant flowers of the field,
Cannot compare
To the sweet music
Of Child's contagious laughter,
And the light God gave them,
Shining clear through their eyes of bright.
Sep 3, 2020
Sep 3, 2020 at 3:41 PM UTC
A crescent full of impurity.
A mind Full of thoughts and plasters made of monogamous beliefs.
You never once told me about the Martian moon
Look how it hangs like an eyebrow
Contrasting our duo souls into these drinking lips.
It felt serene, and necessary.
Incomparable with any waterfall
I have ever drank from before.
Oh but what a nightmare it is to fall in love and bathe in the supremacy of our lord and savior Kermit the frog.
Tonight I belong to all the wisp wishes left On your Oceanside cheeks. As I number this state of confusion, my homage goes to the dandelion blower.
May you forget me.
And may we both find strength and peace in this destruction.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC