"sandcastle" poems
He was the ocean; handsome, but yet, Impulsively damaged. He had a sandy heart to correspond his sandy eyes, the moon dismantled that omitted pride he carried at a dead weight; shoveling and reshaping it, so people would see a sandcastle statue assembled in strength. But his washed-up soul and unannounced insecurities were aware of its genuine purpose,
this beach alongside his pupils;
quicksand, he'll sink so slowly in. Waves in his hair like ripples on his cheeks, skipping stones land at his defeat, he left notes in bottles for you, sank multiple ships for you, because he hasn't the heart to say he's desiccating with the arrival of the stars.. Retracting scars are not too far from gasps for air, foaming words of crisis by writing in the sand, signaling a light as the last one in him died. You wouldn't understand, the calm before the storm, as valve after valve puncture him. So intoxicating as it drains him, and from within, he's drying out. Sunburns stain him, a smile restrains him,
in an inescapable drought--
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 4:32 PM UTC
Bravery is being the only one who knows you're afraid
it's also being the only one who knows you're lonely, sad, or broken
bravery is walking alone and smiling because the people
in the cars driving by need to have their days brightened
bravery is leaving home and saying you had a good day,
when you're crashing down inside and you might as well
have built a sandcastle in a hurricane for yourself to stand on, bravery
is still being a rock, because others need a place to stay as well.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 11:57 PM UTC
I knew I loved you
since the fourth feather light forehead kiss.
In your presence
I am isolated in utopian bliss.
An island overlooking
glowing hydrogen masses
of what looks like Pacific fires,
or Polaris,
or just you.
Small suns floating in nautical blue,
showered in Pearl Harbor reds
and paper kamikaze sunset hues.
My high sandcastle walls fall
a million grains all over the beach
and I am defenseless against the tide
that is about to swallow me.
I melt away,
let my demons burn,
open the gates,
and let the little girl escape.
I look at you
and everything
is made out of light.
You make every day
worth waking up to.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 2:59 AM UTC
A hippodrome as smoke adjourn
those can wrap Havanas blunt
while Manila fish for sordino
they reek of harvest yet exhume Moro
then San Mateo shall not a maraschino bane
whether they've sought bastion in Italy then
once their hopes shall keep ships ahoy
and Sabatini sing San Marino here
that sandcastle star await his lover in
"The Sea Hawk" a fine costume whence sail
those Antilles with a conquistador as buttress
in this play they call Those Philippines alas meet
El Duarte in a duet with his song set aflame with
great sleeves in such kleptocracy worldwide again.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 8:35 AM UTC
i wish we could go to a park at night
and sit back to back
on a blanket beneath the trees
and talk until the stars tell us to go home
because when i look at you straight on
my knees grow weak and my voice shakes
and maybe i'm not exactly sure what to say
when i'm distracted by
all the what ifs in your eyes
and maybe my mind dizzies with thought
like the possibility that i could be
a high tidal wave
that washes away the foundations
of a barely built sandcastle
and maybe i just wish i could tell you
everything on my mind at 2am
and maybe i'm just really hoping
you feel the same way
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 9:50 PM UTC
This garden is filled
With blossoming loneliness
I tied myself
To this sandcastle filled with thorns
What is your name?
Do you even have a place to go?
Oh, could you tell me?
I saw you hiding in this garden
And I know
Your heat is real
Your hand picks the blue flowers
I want to hold it but
This is my destiny
Don’t smile on me
Light on me
Because I can’t go to you
There’s no name to call
You know that I can’t
Show you me
Give you me
I can’t show you my weakness
So I’m putting on a mask to go see you
But I still want you
A flower that resembles you
Blossomed in this garden of loneliness
I wanted to give it to you
As I take off this stupid mask
But I know
This can’t go on forever
I must hide
Because I’m ugly
I’m afraid
So pathetic
I’m so afraid
In the end, will you leave me too?
So I’m putting on a mask to go see you
What I can do is
To make a pretty flower
That resembles you
Blossom in this garden, in this world
Then breathe as the person you know
But I still want you
I still want you
Maybe back then
If I had just a little more
Courage
And stood before you
Would everything be different now?
I’m crying
At this sandcastle
That’s disappearing
And breaking down
As I look at this broken mask
And I still want you
But I still want you
But I still want you
And I still want you
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 2:02 AM UTC
Dear father,
I still remember the last time I saw you
It's funny, because you looked just the same as you always did
Like someone
Who was never really mine.
Like a stranger in disguise
Who's reality only exists
When I close my eyes and fantasize about you being in my life
But I guess
When you heard you should live your life without
Regret
You mistook that for my name
And I wonder if you will ever understand the pain
Of knowing someone only when you imagine them
Or loving someone who thought
Never talk to strangers
Was a lesson best learnt by example
But they say actions speak louder than words
And you became so consumed by your own self worth to really give a **** about who you hurt
So you became the expert
At manipulating words
Like turning
I love yous into sorrys
And
Tomorrows into yesterdays
Until it was safe to say I couldn't count on you
Dear father,
Because of you
I constantly found myself falling in love with things that could never love me back
I became infatuated with sandcastle and snowflakes
Addicted to temporary moments
Addicted to broken
Thought if I learnt to fix things
Then somehow
I might find the manuscript
To piecing the shattered part of my being whole again
Because of you
I spent years trying to cover this skin that you left me with
Tried decorating these scars
With tattooed hopes
To remind myself
That sometimes
Some things
Were made to last forever
Because of you,
For years I avoided looking into the mirror
Because I never truly knew
If you could love someone
You only ever met in passing
You see
I mistook your ***** for water
I never realised I was internally drowning in your poison
I thought I needed you to stay afloat
It took me a long time to realise
That ***** was just your way of relieving yourself from blame
You became a box full of things
I packed away the day you left
But I've stopped trying to hold on to your burden
So I've taken out my smile
And I'll wear it with pride
And Dear father,
Did you know
That if you repeat a word enough times
Then eventually the word will start to lose it's meaning?
And I've stopped wishing I was still young enough to understand
What the word father meant
And now no know
That if I ever see you again
Then you will look just the same as you always did
Like someone
who doesn't deserve to be mine
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 9:52 PM UTC
They call it a 'Class War"
They call it a "War of Liberation"
whilst its just another instance of white oppression
Childish, immature, mean and nasty underachievers
like the kid on the beach who kicks over others sandcastle
because they are better than the ******* castle he made
Like that that uncool dumb teen who scatters the board game
because he's now seen that he is losing and cannot win at all
like those ugly pimpled friends who would play gooseberry
and cock-blockers because they can't get nice dates of their own
like that bitter mad one who will spill ink over your white top
or new Trainers because he or she has old and ***** ones
They are all from the world of the sicko psychos and damaged
talent-less mean, envious, sad pathetic people going nowhere
If I can't make it, why should others do and be winners
They all graduate to the divisive politics of the ****** losers
Power is stopping progress and advancement because they are down
Power is bringing achievers and enterprise down they can's gain
Power is sabotaging all that is good because they are bad in all
Measly fetid minds they plot and conspire in gangrenous network
dolts, scums, unwashed losers and rejects of society, bottom feeders
Come join the Party, our specialty is chaos and disruption of winners
The pathetic jokes of the white West, losers in their own backyards
picks on an African who came from disadvantages to better them
better educated, more intelligent, cool and stylish in every way
pack full of potential, going places they can never go or reach
Our sick, mean spirited under-achievers, expert losers and scums
crawled on the war-path, riddled with envy, sick with jealousy
ruin his progress, oppose and disrupt a black man who doubles
efforts to achieve, what if losers try is given to them on a plate
What here is done for the greater good, what here is honorable
celebrated victories for psychos, racist underachievers I think not
peoples power? more sick, tormented, jealous n envious chicanery
anarchy jealousy, anarchy shame, anarchy racists, anarchy liars
One Single Black achiever demonstrates the inherent strength
and grace of our all our Ancestors against sick, persistent white oppression. That's the story here.
If its a fair war, why hide and go underground, why fight *****
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 7:40 AM UTC
Every night you fall to pieces,
Wish you were someone else,
Whatever it is it freezes,
Watch them, the sandcastles.
Reflections in the mirrors tell lies,
Wish you were someone else,
Watch them all die as flies,
Watch them grow, the sandcastles.
I’m invisible to them,
Wish you were someone else,
You over power them,
Watch them rise the sandcastles.
You make the change,
Wish you weren't someone else,
Read your list to burn their names,
Watch it grow, your sandcastle.
With power comes force,
Thought you had known so well,
Can you feel any remorse,
As your sandcastle, it fell.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 10:17 AM UTC
People who live by the sea
understand eternity.
They copy the curves of the waves,
their hearts beat with the tides,
& the saltiness of their blood
corresponds with the sea.
They know that the house of flesh
is only a sandcastle
built on the shore,
that skin breaks
under the waves
like sand under the soles
of the first walker on the beach
when the tide recedes.
Each of us walks there once,
watching the bubbles
rise up through the sand
like ascending souls,
tracing the line of the foam,
drawing our index fingers
along the horizon
pointing home.
4k
Looking at my album,
Of a picture taken,
Long ago built,
Sandcastles,
Made from child dreams,
Of sand and water,
On a shore play day,
Using hand shovel and bucket,
Scooping sand,
Mixing with water,
Hands molding,
A child’s fort takes place,
With dreams of fierce battles,
Slowly afternoon tide comes in,
Washing against castle walls,
Reclaiming its precious sand,
Waves invade,
Hand prints disappear,
Molded mounds fall,
Those castle forms disappear,
Soon they become just a memory,
Forever caught,
In a Kodak moment,
Have you ever made a sandcastle?
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC
Deckchairs
on a pebble beach,
hands almost touching,
fingers brushing.
Deckchairs
on a pebble beach,
excited laughter,
quickening breath.
Deckchairs
on a pebble beach,
sun setting,
night time creeping.
Deckchairs
on a pebble beach,
the child who collected
shells on the shore,
a child no more.
Deckchairs
on a pebble beach,
sandcastle hearts
and tidal wave tears.
Deckchairs
on a pebble beach,
the seaside
will never
be
the same.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
I lied by the sea,
far away from the ebb-
uncared, untraceable,
a heap among the mounds.
You came to me first,
And then joined in she,
both squatted by me,
started the play with me.
Never can I forget,
the first caress-
I know not, yours or hers,
but it was like heaven.
Your juvenile dreams,
naive imaginations,
bestowed on my otiose self,
by your seasoned skills.
Grain upon grains,
both made me proud.
Not conforming to a flaw,
meticulous maven masons.
When your hands tired,
she backed you up.
While she was ******
you tended her to health.
Finally, I stood tall-
an Olympian castle.
Both were beguiled,
I would never be happier.
And, then came the storm,
Satanic vibes infested the air.
I couldn’t fathom what befell,
you were furious, she was crying.
Raised voices, clenched fists,
intimate moments castaway,
I stood a meek witness,
while a relationship was severed.
Came along the lunar surge,
I was wiped away without a trace.
Both stood distant from the other,
watching me fall, filled with remorse.
Mar 2, 2010
Mar 2, 2010 at 9:15 AM UTC
The shells lined up nicely.
"At attention," the conch yelled.
He was curled black, with boiled blue spikes.
And so they stayed, in a perfect line against the wall,
until the wave,
washing ashore, it plucked three.
One was an abalone,
almost full grown,
with five holes descending down its left side.
A sheen of gold and silver out,
murky indigo and forest green in.
He lost grip first,
and was pulled into an incoming breaker.
The second was a conch.
Chocolate and vanilla swirls coated the outer layers
leading in to slight pink.
Her name was Neapolitan.
She was once an adult shell of the queen conch,
washed ashore and set into a line by small hands,
that were gentle and soft.
Zander
A soft voice called.
Inhaled by the mouth of the ocean,
exhaled into a bout of seaweed.
She was lost.
The last,
was a cowry shell.
He was old,
or at least he imagined so.
This was not the first time he had washed ashore,
nor had he figured, would it be the last.
His back was ivory white
with brown speckles,
in such a pattern
that he imagined himself to be, at times, a turtle.
He had first felt and then saw reflections of himself in sea glass. He was gathered in a bucket and rubbed so that his design reverberated until he felt, every shimmer of himself.
Knowing not what lay ahead,
but understanding,
he held no grip and went where the ocean led.
It's getting dark Zander.
The others gasped,
in horror their screams rasped.
"Save us. Plea...se he...l...p."
As another wave crashed into the wall and stole four more,
again,
till all were cast away from the wall
to be laden across the expanse of sand.
Soft brown eyes stared,
at the empty holes,
where shells had been placed,
as decorations to a most deserving sand castle.
Turrets and towers,
hard packed by child hands,
with a red flag flapping to the sea breeze.
*A crude skull was drawn,
for it was a pirate fascination that encapsulated this year.*
He had spent hours seeking and finding,
the perfect art,
to be the binding,
to hold his wall against all defense,
but all had fallen in the first wave of battle.
"Oh well," he muttered.
He would try again tomorrow.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
it was sandcastle cities with you:
careful residing in the threat
of it all crumbling away
with steadfast eyes,
I watched as you made
a fine-grained mess
watching and waiting
for the inevitable blow of
your city-collapsing wave of truth
it was sandcastle cities –
dedicated to you.
I dedicated myself to you,
and it was easy to do.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
The Stream
Carries the mighty twig along
Through its winding turns
Gets stuck under a rock
But not for long
When the fisherman comes
And pushes it to the dock
There it hangs out
For awhile
Making new Friends
Near the wet branch pile
Some are thick
Some are thin
Some are cracked
And some are its twin
A sudden big splash
The kids have jumped in
Off the twig goes
Where it ends up
It does not know
Entwining with another twig
Around each lily pad
Like perfectly aligned dancing feet
That must have been meant to meet
Together they move swiftly through the water
Stuck underneath some large kelp
Its liked friend is there to help
Over the mini waterfalls they flow
Never really know which will let go
Eventually it starts to pour
And a wave crashes them to a shore
Together they are not no more
One transcends to a useful walking stick along the ridge
The other becomes part sandcastle bridge
Stopped serving their purpose
They did not
At midnight they are tossed back in
Rough waters ahead
They start to spin
Mighty twigs gave it their best shot
And then they began to slowly rot
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
step one: mark out your
territory, bordered by
sea surf on the one side and
beach towels on the other;
dig a moat to the left and right so
no one can intrude upon your
Fortress of Solitude.
step two: build a sandcastle.
ignore the imminent
tides and the omnipresent
ravages of gravity; they are
irrelevant to your
Dream of Isolation.
step three: come to realize
that you are not
happy despite
getting exactly what you wanted:
welcome to the real
world kiddo. I hope you
found what you're
Looking For.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
You are the
sandcastle
in my heart
I will never
let wash away.
~mce
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 3:01 AM UTC
Remember the sandcastle
that we used to build?
It took some time
but little did we know
we have handcrafted our future
it was a hard work and patience
Passerby's liked it, others did not
but what do they know?
We had fun building it!
We were diligent to fill
it with sand
Sand that was formed
into an art of love
A castle that we both own
Yes, you will be the king,
and please, call me 'milady'
We will rule the kingdom
No negativities shall come in
Not until when we came back
Those sands of promises and memories
become pain
Everything was ruined
when the waves washed
our dreams away.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 7:09 PM UTC
there is an old persian legend of a man who falls in love
with a woman and goes insane when he cannot have her.
even after she is married to someone else, he spends his days
composing love songs in the dirt, building sandcastle hearts
just to watch them collapse again when the tide rolls back in.
years pass, and the girl never writes anything back.
i still wonder if she was ever given the chance to.
i was twenty-seven when i learned that you could fashion a
stethoscope out of a cassette tape, broadcast the sounds of your
heart to a double guitar riff that screamed desire. you pressed
play and in an instant, i was priest to your deepest confessional.
i never asked about how you looked at me on the days that my
husband was too busy finding god to join me in bed at night.
i never wanted to know that you sinned in the color of my eyes.
i never thought i’d be remembered for the moment that i traded
krishna for ******* and the thousand days that followed:
day 176: we mix love and self-destruction in an old hotel room
until they go down my throat as easily as sweet red wine.
day 472: you turn watching me get ready for a party into an
excuse to make love to my reflection with the windows open.
day 894: you spend the entire morning restringing your guitar
but i can still recognize another woman’s voice in its tone.
day 1000: i loved you but never had the instruments to prove it.
we’ve both realized that obsession is a drug best left to legend.
to this day, they still call me the greatest muse of rock and roll,
but each switch of the radio dial is just another reminder that i
once tasted like music in the mouths of men, that their words built
me up like a flower-child mona lisa in all the permanence of three
minutes of vinyl, that though i inspired the most beautiful lyrics
ever written about love, they never called me onstage to sing them.
i was once told that if you love a woman to the point of madness, she
will become it. but any insanity i have remains etched on the insides
of my veins; i walk beaches now, much too old for sandcastle-building.
years pass, and the girl has never written anything back.
i still wonder if she will ever be given the chance to.
even the world’s greatest muses sometimes want to hold the pen.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
my reflection, anatomical inaccuracy reads something like:
fairy dust in a silt layer, bones all shattered at the press of her fingers, and for months I molded a sandcastle around the soft
sinking, drinking ichor from a cocktail glass and dragging nails across my discomfort -
did you see that girl taking a tempest inside herself, to warp her sinew, spreading from this side of the universe to other?
in the lamplight I bit a secret onto the ridge of her spine; sometimes I sleep near fires hoping my insides become glass
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 8:48 PM UTC
a stabbing shiver corrodes my limbs
goosebumps lick my heart
a fat cramp strokes my lips
and terror waves my mind
freezingly hot blood
flushes twisted nerves
sweet foul shudder makes
all memories awake
blurry visions of happiness
worm into cutting blade
hissing a haunting realization:
that it is too late.
naivety suggests
a joyful brand new start
but the naked present screams
that you grew apart
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 3:05 AM UTC
Throwing smoke at scarlet monocles,
roots grow from the inhospitable grounds,
temperature flush, heart beat quicken,
rep tulips,
burnt rose petals,
hunted by time,
mischief drought,
we choke.
we drown.
Callused is history, in a rock on a thought.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 12:10 AM UTC
I fell in love
with a sandcastle
and when the tide came
and washed you away
I let my body drift out to sea
prayed I would disintegrate
piece by piece, particle by particle
with yours
but I'm not like you
made of sand
my moats were useless
against waves
have you ever tried to capture a wave inside of a bucket?
that's what it was like
to love her
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC