"seashells" poems
During youth I was quite the collector
of ocean cretin's annealed sandcastles
Though the hosts inside could not be cheaper,
their fleshy coats were worth all the hassles
Content I was amassing worn seashells;
monthly did this fine collection accrue
Though furnished, barren felt those wooden shelves,
as even pearls are lesser than a jewel
Still, the sand was warm; the waves were soothful
and regardless of what hollowness struck,
the beach granted a chance to feel fruitful
so long as one had either skill or luck
Alone was I, but daresay not lonely,
but I was not merry until married.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 6:55 PM UTC
The beach smells of tranquillity and salty sea air
The rhythm of the waves gently caresses my skin
The horizon seems elusive, a dream always chased
Yet night foreshadows traumas waiting to be let in
Oh where do I begin?
*I love you
I don't wanna be scared of you
I'm waiting in the shoreline
Please don't run away this time*
I'm scared of silent reflections, solemn and reclusive
I float futher from myself with each passing day
I have a note addressed to myself taped to a mirror
I'm scared of reading it aloud and being lead astray
And I have to accept that it's okay
*"I love you
I don't wanna be scared of you
I'm waiting in the shoreline
Please don't run away this time"*
Seashells coated in sand tickle the edge of my ear
The fog carried on the wind sends chills deep inside
The sun will always be there to break the duskiness
Daunting across the sky and waking up the tide
And the breeze slowly sighed
Please don't run away,
don't run away from me
Please don't run away,
don't run away from help
Please don't run away,
don't run away from the sea
Please don't run away,
don't run away from yourself
Angel wings take me further than I've ever gone before
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 11:29 AM UTC
Mild currents, gently
****** seashells on the seashore
In pearlescent tones
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 4:09 AM UTC
We picked the seashells on the shore,
You hear them whisper in your ears,
I always love to hear you share what they speak,
Their words with different voices,
I always thought you just pretend,
So I pretended to understand,
Now you are far
Beyond the horizon that we see
Whenever we watch the sun wake and sleep,
I picked a seashell on the shore
And hear it whisper in my ear,
I hear your voice saying I love you.
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 3:02 PM UTC
*In stillness, and splendors of the oceans glint,
I casually walked down memory lane,
Leaving behind, lovely memories with each passing footprint.
Calming sapphire waters, creased upon the shore,
Bringing mild sudsy currents,
Crashing onto the smooth silky sands, like never before.
As sparkling seashells decorated the seaside,
Tumbling gently,
Upon the tiny creamy sprinkles of grain, as I glanced along the side.*
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC
when i was a boy,
i collected seashells.
i had the most beautiful collection
when i was a boy.
i dreamt of seashells
and what i dreamt was beside
me every morning of everday
when i was a boy.
i had red ones and blue ones
white ones and rounds ones
ones of beauty and of majesty
when i was a boy.
the world marvelled at my collection
the world coveted my collection
i had the most beautiful seashell collection
when i was a boy.
one day i looked out through a window
and saw a boy walking along the beach
he picked up the plainest of seashells
and smiled
i raged and raged and raged
for forty days and forty nights
i raged
when i was a boy.
Jun 19, 2010
Jun 19, 2010 at 6:41 PM UTC
Let us gather seashells
Collect them and dump them in our pails
Then we'll hold a seashell
Then we will bow our heads and close our eyes
And we will say prayers for each other
And pray about things that weigh upon
Our hearts.
~Marian~
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 5:57 PM UTC
seashells
line my bare shelves
barely--line my bare walls
collecting emptiness to fill
my house
(C)2000, Christos Rigakos
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 12:09 AM UTC
Words float in the air
They rearrange themselves into a sentence
form a picture of a train and roll away
Words shaped like balloons
They float away but will be back soon
Words hiding in a tree
Leaves fall to the ground and form sentences for me
Musical notes rearrange themselves on a scale
Fingers jumping from fret to fret
or dancing on the piano keys
These are some of the things I see
Ocean waves roll in and write on the sand
Once it just wrote, "I AM"
Seashells with words lie on the beach
In a sentence they realign
Thank you Lord for this beautiful mind
Dec 15, 2019
Dec 15, 2019 at 7:25 AM UTC
***That Night by the ocean
The waves sung me a lullaby
Of palm tree silhouettes
And tropical sunsets
Of singing waves
And gritty white sand
Of lemonade sipped on the shore
Of nocturnal ukuleles singing a melody
Of sandy flip-flops left on the sand
Of little ocean seashells
And ocean treasures beneath the waves
Of hibiscus blossoms in bloom
Of tropical fruits
Of salty breezes stirring my brown hair
Of tropical Nights
And on and on their lullaby went
And hushed me to sleep***
~Marian~
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
No two seashells are the same;
but then, to be invariable would be a shame.
To be unique is a gift you see,
to be you is the best way to be.
All seashells are grouped together in the sea and onshore,
their differences are irrelevant - their worth is the same at the core.
Some are able to float away from distress,
while others merely sink under the pressure I must confess.
Some are captivating and beautiful beyond compare,
while some are unpropitious with signs of wear and tear.
Yet despite their differences each one has an admirer,
and whether whole or broken each one is a survivor.
No two seashells are the same, it's true -
nor are two humans invariable - let this message get through.
To be unique is a gift you see,
to be you is the best way to be.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
I want sunflowers
On my doorstep
And butterflies
In my hair
I want sand
Between my toes
And seashells
In my hand
I want raindrops
On my lips
And your breath
Against my skin
I want your fingers
Playing with my hair
And my knees
Going weak
I want the world
To stop
When you press
Your lips to mine
I want to see the sunset
In your arms
And the stars
To twinkle in your eyes
I want to be
The only girl you'll ever need
And for forever
To start with me
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
am i more than a thought
crossed paths with teenagers who knew
no better than to travel down
seashell encrusted beaches
holding hands with the waves as
they left footprints in the sand
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
In a bedroom in small-town Pennsylvania,
you’ll find an unmade bed,
a pile of clothes on the floor—
clean but not folded,
open drawers and dusty shelves,
a desk in the corner of the room
with pictures laid across it.
When I caught my first fish at six.
I held it at arm’s length by the fishing line
to avoid the slimy scales,
a frown on my face from being forced
to sit silently in the cold.
When my family went to Marco Island,
my sister and I, sifting sand for the best seashells
in our matching swimsuits and hats.
Mom and dad’s fights forgotten in our fun.
High school graduation
posing with my best friend since first grade,
diplomas in one hand and an extra cap held between us
because not everyone survived all four years.
Move-in day at college,
sitting on my raised bed with a grey comforter
and two decorative pillows the color of cotton candy.
Sweat on my brow from southern humidity
and moving furniture without the help of a father.
The pictures are merely snapshots
that lack the full story.
How I learned what it meant for love to fall apart
when I was eight years old.
My sister warned me before it happened,
told me what a divorce was.
I mistook her for joking until they called us upstairs.
Dad cried when they told us, but mom held her tears
until the day he left. The sounds of her cries
escaping from behind a closed door.
“This doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.”
But that’s exactly what it meant.
How I was taught by my father that love is conditional,
and I repeatedly needed to prove myself
through good grades and unquestioning obedience.
Forced to stay home to spend time with the family,
sitting wordlessly on the couch while he watched TV.
Made guilty for wanting to spend time with friends
because that somehow meant that I was a bad daughter.
It’s funny—I never asked myself if he was a good father.
If you look harder at the bedroom,
you’ll find journals filled with bitter words,
screws from disassembled pencil sharpeners, loose razors, and Aquaphor,
food wrappers stuffed in hidden places,
a closet brimming with junk and pairs of shoes,
evidence of a story untold. Until you.
Sep 20, 2023
Sep 20, 2023 at 9:09 PM UTC
A storm was rolling in
Over the ocean waves,
And I sat in the sand
And broke shells into
Shards with my hands.
It wasn't hard, and I
Thought of how strange
A corpse to be so colorful,
So incredibly beautiful.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
We wandered our gazes
to the semidarkness Illuminated
above our sight.
Looking at the allurement
that were now empty caskets
hanging on tombstones of lights,
clinging to there eventual demise.
Lying on the earth,
we felt at peace.
Knowing we were one day
to be woven within its fabric,
empty shells of pebbles lost in
a lake of timeless moments.
We would be seashells on its shores
gently corroding with each wave.
till we were grains of eternity
variations of us everywhere.
Looking upon each other,
our hands clasping like a
momentary fissure
sealing a grain of moments
between ourselves.
*"Death is a moment where life
is cherry a falling slowly,*
For we each hang on delicate
moments,
growing till we do as everything
does. Descending till we evaporate
from reflections and thought.
"Where all echoes who've already past,
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 5:43 AM UTC
I was struck
on the day of extinction
I was confused
on the day of elimination
the seashells rung
in it's glorious tune
but it seems our opponent
is not immune
So we win the battle
because of the seashells
joyous rattle
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC
You've always been in my heart
Where you've stayed since the beginning
You're like a little sister to me
Like the twinkling stars are to the beautiful sky
Like the driftwood is to tiptoe across
Like the romantic couples are to sandy beach strolls
Like the glowing campfires are to cooling nights
Like the soft music is from crashing waves
Like the white seashells are to listening ears
Like the gigantic ships are to the rolling sea
Like the wiggling fish are to the squawking seagulls
Like hungry people are to their picnic lunches
Like the playful families are to the never-ending coast
Like all eyes are to the breath-taking view
Like the smiling faces are to the digital cameras
Like the crying children are to their tearful goodbyes
You're like a little sister to me
We've always been, one way or another, the best of friends,
And we'll forever be, until the end
Copyright 2014; Sabrina Denise Healey,
~Angelmom~
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 7:03 PM UTC
*A parade of fluorescent silhouettes,
Aim against a tranquil lit afternoon sky,
In a collage of interwoven blossoms,
Casually stretching,
Side by side.
Releasing a pleasant aroma,
Interlacing within the calming sea,
As the water creases, upon a bed of shimmery grains,
Below a shade of fluffy clouds,
A place you would never want to leave.
When the tides slowly washes in,
In a rich and mild lather .... lacking impel,
Underneath a ribbon of distinctive seashells,
Leaving a mesmerizing imprint,
And a magical spell.*
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
Hungry.
In the silence,
of this afternoon,
they arrive, ready
to feed children who wait
in nest high above.
Their high whistle dancing,
pierces the soundscape
These mejiros--yellow with sharp white eyes,
Comb through hibiscus bush
Finding a meal
Hidden within
Like parrotfish
Munching through coral reef,
I sit under tree listening,
Abruptly
The seashells to my mind
Fill with shrill sounds
Of mothers scolding monsters,
A quickening--
Their white eyes dart like fearful
squid flying through
brushy undercurrents.
Underneath,
The small lion cat
Stalks the
Hungry sounds
In the bush
the Hungry looking for Hungry
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 9:22 PM UTC
These oceans are named Between.
Yes, I know them all.
They've separated me before
By water's solid wall.
*But I imagine when I
Jump and make a splash
At my local Brighton beach
That ripple travels
To your shore so
You're never out of reach!*
And at these rugged shores
That ripple reaches land.
As good as any letter penned,
A wave; an outstretched hand.
*Like a message in a bottle
I hope it reaches you
Every nuance of my love and care
Dripped in oceans blue*
Much more comfort in that
Bottle, than the one before
Me now. Its insides shared
With me; still I am emptier
...somehow.
*Well you can't run on empty
So let me fill your cup
With seashells whispers
Wisdom pearls
And jellied joy to
Fill you up*
A whispered wish
An uttered prayer.
That space that pushes
Here from there to
Disappear; give room for
Place to share as lair,
There's places everywhere...
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 3:48 PM UTC
SEASHELLS
Seashells
Humble shells of the sea
Each seems to be still alive and staring at me
In its matchless symmetry-
Like the wondrous beauty of a painting
A tender poem written with poignancy
Not of life’s sorrows but joys
For celebration –each is like a happy Mozartian symphony
Such perfection in a tiny manifestation
Natura in minimis maxima-
The envy of Michelangelo or Da Vinci
Seashells—nature’s glorious gifts by far.
Seashells
Always remind me of happy childhood days
Lucky finds—spotted often in half -buried golden sand
Proudly displayed in a jar---I won every classmate’s praise.
Seashells
Tell of the sea’s unknown stories
Events that had stretched through millions of centuries
When you spot one on the shore, readily
Pick it up as a treasure----contemplate upon its profound mystery.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 7:35 PM UTC
Sands near the sea
Fill my mind
Like beaches
While storms tear
Through my happiness
And destroy my smile
Until there is nothing
But sand and seashells
Near waves in my eyes
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 2:49 AM UTC
The shells are singing
holy songs now—oceans whistle through
their concert holes. ‘Holes drilled by predators,’
the seashore sings to me.
And I’m reminded there’s
so much more ancient than man.
So much that can never be written down,
for words are the limitations of our knowledge
—not its end.
And there should be something more
but really, how does one write what happened
with the seashells whistling by the seashore?
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 12:50 PM UTC
If I listen carefully,
I can hear the lapping of the ocean tide.
The splish
splash
of skipping rocks.
If I close my eyes,
I can feel the sun again.
The warmth my hands held
For those few seconds.
If I stop for a moment,
I can still find traces of those stolen moments.
Of that sweet summer
Trailing in the October breeze.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC