"seasides" poems
she was a free spirit
the kind whose hair smelled like the wind
and who ran with wolves
she walked barefoot up mountains
and danced in the rain
she picked wildflowers
and sang songs to the trees
she waited down seasides
and whispered secrets to the stars
she was a free spirit
the kind that need not be tamed
-k.j.c
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 8:37 PM UTC
Look up from grey, your stony walls,
Break with the sun, seasides beyond,
Even dreams can come true my heart,
Take one step into the song of the lark.
If I should stay, Cuillin Hills will weep,
End up bleating with black faced sheep,
Stoic on cairns, froze giant of Callanish,
Or gutted in harbour like some cuttlefish.
My mind is mournful, keens with winds,
O what choral fantasias we both'll sing,
Hymns north, west, south, easter terrain,
Thoughts' forsake, points the wind vane.
A fine stout dinghy awaits pure ravel,
My sorrows a mend upon that voyage,
Into the west, moon hid from maid sun,
Aye, ginger haired wrangler tae horizons.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 3:45 AM UTC
Today it will rain once again,
In the windows of cloudy eyes,
Where I and you unclearly exist,
On the lotted shores of memory.
Stoic birds wading upon waves,
That grieve and go, riding, broke,
An endless sweeping of sorrows,
Carried by moans on the wind.
In the windows of our new eyes
There was, then, true gleaming
And we were ***** by seasides,
Among sparkles of stars and sun.
The island so far away was here,
Perfect, bright, cast of nowadays,
Land only love in whisper knows
O, by the graceful seasides only.
Now, dry, shelled and castaway,
The wind is shrilling its long keen
And the cradle bones of our love
Lie still, asleep in sinking sands.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 3:07 AM UTC
My colourful mind
melts upon your skin
drips from your lips
slips from your hips
you’re looking like
rainbows in raindrops
tints trapped in teardrops
blobs of purple slop stain
violent splats of violet paint
on the palette of my brain
stay in the line of my mind
eyelashes for brushes
red roses and rosy rashes
fireworks and knee jerks
yellow and low blows
all these and much more
are greener than folklore
seasides and sea-saw
whys your eyes so blue for?
go ahead and kiss me
taste the colours you adore
Aug 31, 2021
Aug 31, 2021 at 6:49 PM UTC
Criss-cross
Fate's pathways go
Like rivers
Twisting and turning
To seasides and shores
Criss-cross
Fate's lines converged
Caused you and I to meet
And our sights to merge
Criss-cross
Fate got our strings in knots
But Time was against us
And what we had sought
Criss-cross
I leave it all to Fate
And accept the fact
Fate got us in knots
A little bit too late
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 4:25 PM UTC
*there’s a motto,
treat a cat like a cat,
when a cat ***** in your bed
smack him over the head for him to learn
and...
gentlemen never drink in the morning.*
the last motto can be changed to:
gentlemen never drink in the morning
unless they take the remnants of the whiskey
with coffee... now you’re talking irish gentlemen,
or perhaps northern irish, because that’s
where the english ***** bank was established...
that great big sandpit known as lough neagh
(that's ulster... or ulcer?).
blake was wrong... there are more ***** tadpoles
in every *********** over the years than there
are grains of sand on the seasides and stars in the universe...
it would be counterproductive otherwise.
i’m not going to be one of those repentant drunks
who suddenly find poetry or prose
lacerating myself on ‘oh poo poo poo’ memories
and how one can become a respectable citizen via newspaper publishing,
**** that, **** you, eminem gave me all the clues;
swearing? taking oaths? it's called punctuation in połlish.
come on celt... let's tango!
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 7:05 AM UTC
It's all a choice
The simple things
Car parks full with disgust
You breath at which the rhythm you bring
I'm growing older
And this house isn't getting any colder
I'm growing up
And this life isn't what it once meant to me
The picnics and benches
They rise and they fall
Seasides and sandcastles
We sat on the wall
Together, and now its OK
We stare aimlessly and talk everyday
You never did
But I missed you today
It's in the pragmatics
The air and the semantics
Ribbons leashed to my tongue
Hopelessly inadequate hapless passionate
Stretched, quick, gone now, faded
I see you on the mind of other peoples faces
Now it's just dissolution
Diluted into an illusion
I'd watch my step
Because it's going off further than the edge
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
I just can't help but wonder
If by you saying "I love you"
Is just another way of saying "I love the feeling of you".
That your fantasy of us
Was just an illogical fallacy of lust
Because in truth, I fear you do not think with your heart-
In betrayal, I will always trust.
I wish we were back to those beautiful days;
The days where we would pick strawberries,
On the coats of Norway-
Swing carelessly, on the seasides of Whales.
Now, we just pick fights on the depths of our insecurities,
Say careless, arrogant things out of spite-
I miss when "I love you", wasn't an apology.
Maybe you can love me for real this time,
and not like the times we've shared.
I hope that one day "I love you" will mean no more
than just a few words to show mediocre affection-
And I won't need it as my life line,
Or my everlasting addiction for approval from you.
Maybe one day, we won't even have to say
"I love you",
Because on that day, we wouldn't have to wonder
What the answer would be.
For once, I deserve that.
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 3:40 PM UTC
Feel too young to live,
Stuck in all of my old ideas:
On the very seasides-
Wait on time to change its tide.
Its long line of spray-
All the good moments are-
Quiet subtle whispers:
As the worst of them all,
Are a grating roar.
Begin, and cease,
The tides have grown full:
Everything now draws back;
As I feel like a lost pebble,
Without its own direction:
Tremulous, is man's misery;
In their shoreless ocean,
Waiting on the sand, shivering in cold.
Only the brave try-
To swim to the- Ends of eternity,
As children feeling so bold.
Perhaps that time I was bored,
Wondering what's next to come?
Timeless, is life when you're lost-
In all your childish dreams.
With the aroma salts,
Hair lost in the breeze;
I feel so joyously lost at Sea.
Deep, quiet, and alone;
Young, bright, fair, and free:
Only when, it was the younger me.
The ocean's body-
Is a thousand tears,
Of the Earth's greatest guilt:
Pulling me away from dreams;
As her and I are both Blue.
Awful spirits of the deep,
Once took my happiness -
And returned to me filth:
Still at the time, of my youth.
For youth is, so cruel.
But what are we to do,
To only hope we make it through?
Oct 27, 2021
Oct 27, 2021 at 6:27 PM UTC
My hands on her skin,
Like a child I remember,
Soft sands at the beach.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 1:01 AM UTC
Most easily dredged up by balloons,
though it's in snowflakes, beehives,
watermelons and seasides, tennis
shoes, bare feet, deep dives and knee
highs. Two cups, four hands, infinite
tea, smiles. Falling asleep on the couch,
running a mile and then breathing out.
In the perfect timing, the rhythm
to life. The taste of the nectar, the
setting of the vivid dream, the smell
of the clay. The touch of the stone,
when you arrive at the peak. The
frequency of her soul, the feeling
of freedom. The communion of
people, who have found the same
wisdom. The light of the morning
Through the windows, of home.
The sound of harmony flowing
through your cerebrum. The air
in your lungs, the long breaths
when you breathe them. The
light in your face that reflects
off the sun. The clouds that help
all of the plants toward the sun.
The dog laying still finding warmth
in the sun. The air that was born
and that lives in the sun. The
piece of us that was once tied
to the sun.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 3:33 AM UTC
My hands on her skin,
Like a child I remember,
Soft sands at the beach.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
sometimes i catch myself writing like a 2013 tumblr girl. not that i'm against tumblr girls, or 2013, or the writing of girls, really; but you know the type i'm talking about.
mentioning-a-body-part-every-few-paragraphs type. there-is-something-inside-of-you-(probably-a-flower-or-some-other-plant) type. the type that reeks of cigarettes and seasides and longing. the type that could even just be one or two words
written like
this,
you see?
... and people gobble it right up. (i can't blame them. i once did.)
i'm not sure when i realized that there's more to poetry than typewriter aesthetics and talking about bones and rib cages and oceans. sometimes i catch myself comparing eyes to galaxies and i laugh because there are so many eyes, so many poets, so many stars.
i wonder if there's poetry in the little things. the mundane. rainbow gasoline leaks on damp streets; brown brick cafés during golden hour. untied shoe laces. kissing in the back of an uber. (there has to be, right?)
(there has to be poetry in the way my mother bakes her chicken *** pie. the thrum of music playing from another room. emojis. how chlorine sticks to you after swimming in pools. hands that don't fit together; hands that are too big to hold each other; hands that clasp on to each other anyway.)
(there has to be poetry in those.)
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 4:20 AM UTC
He imprints the garden outside,
He drowns them in my waterworks,
He left me eternal tulips,
Ones that don’t die off with time.
He dedicates me old lullabies,
He reads me literature by the seasides,
He reminds me to look up at the skies,
And there’s where he’ll be.
He meets me at weird times and places,
He’s like old love in long houses,
He’s the love my God forbids,
Yet, I pray I’ll stumble upon him
When we make it big in life
In the subway of way too big cities.
Jun 18, 2023
Jun 18, 2023 at 3:40 PM UTC
Remember the sandwich of youth?
On a drizzly beach with actual sand,
the grit crunch making things somehow better
for the supermarket cheddar
and margarine on sliced white
Let the memories come
The loved ones flinging frisbees,
or playing impossible cricket matches,
grand unplanned architecture,
studded with dead shells,
monuments to a hopeful utopia,
collapsed by the heavy-heeled truths of vengeful siblings
or everyday tides
Sea air makes you hungry and tired,
content,
like life and years try
Aug 6, 2020
Aug 6, 2020 at 4:48 PM UTC