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Shaded Lamp Aug 2014
Goodbye  wasps
Goodbye  bees
Goodbye  pollen from the trees
Goodb­ye  midges
Goodbye  flies
Goodbye  scorching cloudless skies
Good­bye  seagulls
Goodbye  ants
Goodbye  sunbathers in tiny pants
Goodbye  sunburn
Goodbye  oiled skin
Goodbye  iced drinks laced with gin
Goodbye  tourists
Goodbye  throngs
Goodbye  men wearing sarongs
Goodbye  hosepipe
Goodbye  lawn  mower
Welcome  to the no­isy leaf blower
Hello  Autumn
Hello  cool bright day
Hello  rolli­ng around in the hay
Hello  harvest
Hello  fruits
Hello  hiking in hiking boots
He­llo  warm colours
Hello  warm hearts
Good riddance Summer
Autumn starts
CH Gorrie Jul 2012
Around me architectural mastery:
sycamores, embankments, enduring ionic pillars.
I round a walkway bordered by trees,
enamel thawing, gliding off their low leaves.
Beneath the late-May’s pounding sun,
through the glittered trees’ reaches,
a gazebo crackles into sight.
Children in their prime, sunbathers, a wistful portraitist
encircle it carelessly:
a leisured chimney; the billows of life.
The foliage escapes into the river,
purplish, palpitating, cyclic creases
receive the dewy notes.
Kayaks licking acacia-gum-edged
ripples sputter and slip
through reverberations
of leveled white-water terraces.
Blackcurrants in clotted cream
slide on the plush lips of a young passerby.
The 8 above a doorway
dances motionless, silent in my periphery;
“Nicolas Cage just sold the spot”
pops from unknown lungs
inside the Circus crowd.

Unacknowledged, half-proud
hands built the Roman baths
alone, closed-in by such grace,
forgotten, then as now.
I wander these ancestral lanes
more or less alone, the same.
(for John and Teckla Clark)

Ours yet not ours, being set apart
As a shrine to friendship,
Empty and silent most of the year,
This room awaits from you
What you alone, as visitor, can bring,
A weekend of personal life.

In a house backed by orderly woods,
Facing a tractored sugar-beet country,
Your working hosts engaged to their stint,
You are unlike to encounter
Dragons or romance: were drama a craving,
You would not have come.

Books we do have for almost any
Literate mood, and notepaper, envelopes,
For a writing one (to "borrow" stamps
Is the mark of ill-breeding):
Between lunch and tea, perhaps a drive;
After dinner, music or gossip.

Should you have troubles (pets will die
Lovers are always behaving badly)
And confession helps, we will hear it,
Examine and give our counsel:
If to mention them hurts too much,
We shall not be nosey.

Easy at first, the language of friendship

Is, as we soon discover,
Very difficult to speak well, a tongue
With no cognates, no resemblance
To the galimatias of nursery and bedroom,
Court rhyme or shepherd's prose,

And, unless spoken often, soon goes rusty.
Distance and duties divide us,
But absence will not seem an evil
If it make our re-meeting
A real occasion. Come when you can:
Your room will be ready.

In Tum-Tum's reign a tin of biscuits
On the bedside table provided
For nocturnal munching. Now weapons have changed,
And the fashion of appetites:
There, for sunbathers who count their calories,
A bottle of mineral water.

Felicissima notte! May you fall at once
Into a cordial dream, assured
That whoever slept in this bed before
Was also someone we like,
That within the circle of our affection
Also you have no double.
Susan O'Reilly Jun 2013
White clouds floating

streams of dreams

sun above gloating

melting icecreams

sunbathers basking

applying cream

butterflies dancing

partying it seems

Everything appears to be smiling

Long may the sun keep shining
Maxine Schmidt Oct 2012
I want a kiss that is soaked by the rain,
On a street with no name.
I want a kiss in the ocean,
With all the sunbathers watching.
Give me a kiss in the backseat of your car,
Under the light of a thousand country stars.
Park your lips onto mine,
Whether it is or it's not the right time.
Because you are handsome and I am ******,
Because like it or not, I want me under.
So give me my highly desired kiss,
So things go further than a simple poem like this.
Dreams of Sepia Sep 2015
I found you in moon-lit courtyards
amongst whispering statues of angels
& broken queer bottles

punk wind roaring in time's freefall
& Tagesspiegel newspapers
read in grave graveyards

the Plötzensee
now a pleasant place
to walk by

past the carefree
nudist sunbathers
in blissful summer

the Olympiastadion
almost forgetting
who it's maker was

but no not quite
nevertheless, good days
far out-weighing the bad
Plötzensee - a lake in Berlin near one of the former **** prisons of the same name

Olympiastadion - the Berlin Olympic Stadium which was first built on ******'s request for the 1936 games.


Berlin is a controversial place, still  in the process of overcoming it's past but it's a brilliant city.
David May 2015
I am a mash-up of mishaps, strange facts and movie quotes.
A cacophony of cool dancing tin hats,
and concerned-looking men,
watching in white lab coats.

I am the hungry seagull searching for salmon,
dodging waves and annoyingly landing on ferry boats.
Dropping gifts to the sunbathers by the  shore,
they never seem to appreciate.
Until they do, I will just drop more.

I am the spinning cactus made of rock.
I am the wealthy, rich millionaire
who sleeps in cheap hotels
and wears odd socks.

You are the last bit of toothpaste
you squeeze out of the tube
before throwing it away.
I haven't brushed my teeth all week.
What more can I say?

I am the broken toy tossed under the bed.
I am the breaking glass, the slamming door,
the words misquoted, misused,
and more than often misread.

I am the one who bites off
more than they can chew.
I am the one who tries and
tries and
tries
to
forget you,
but can never quite seem to.

I am the one who stays up late
sometimes,
to ponder, wonder,
and write these confused, riddled rhymes.

Today is Sunday,
and yet it's already tomorrow.
In my mind, there is no time:
But there is sorrow,
and bursts of joy
and glimpses of hope
and snippets of happiness
and times where I cope,
but most of the time?
Nope.

But today is alright.
One of two poems I randomly wrote today in the car
WINTER

as the heavy snow fell
the chimneys in the village
belched with dark smoke

SPRING

on that day in May
the rustic cottage garden
arrayed in blooms

SUMMER

stinging rays of sun
lashed idle sunbathers
along the shoreline

AUTUMN/FALL

copper medallions
hung from the maple branches
in Alberta's streets
nivek May 2014
today is a picture postcard
by the sea
but this is no Caribbean island
Sunbathed island yes
no coconut trees
willow and sycamore
no sunbathers on the beaches
but beaches all the same
today is as good as it gets
Jude kyrie Mar 2016
Back at work after her honeymoon
she had a radiance
that flowed from her smile.
As she entered the room
we all turned to her shining glow
looking for the door
that would let us inside it.

There was some kind of invisible
golden light that emitted from her heart.
Even the flowers noticed her
and turned to her for her warmth
in their silent curiosity.

And if the those lovebirds the doves
had had been there.
They would have cooed in delight.
Each one of us, even the lonely
have a small fire burning inside.
Hoping that one day it will be
set to a blazing inferno by someone.

In the present moment
she is the one that cannot hide
her sweetness, her inner beauty.
And we lie before her like
sunbathers on the beach
basking in her sunshine
Bardo Jun 13
Sometimes lying in my bed I close my eyes and imagine myself back there again
Back in my old childhood room, in my old childhood bed
I can see the green nightlight shining on the wall
See the dark outlines of the wardrobe and the dressing table
The moonlight coming in through the window
From the street below I hear a lone car passing
You can hear it coming, then arriving, then gradually fading away into the distance
Then the silence returns
I lie there in the quiet
Then suddenly…suddenly I find myself…I find myself rising
Like out of my body, rising up toward the ceiling
I can look back down and see my physical body still lying there on the bed
Then I turn and I fly right out the window
Suddenly I’m outside and I’m free
It’s dark now, a world devoid of colours, a world transformed, a World of shadows
With the big moon shining over the bay
The flowers in the front, their petals closed…drooping
Their all sleeping now, grown colourless in the pale moonlight
I fly over the shrubs and the flowers, fly over the wall and the front gate
The coast road it is so quiet now, not a sound of a car
Or sight of any soul out walking
It’s late…
So ghostly in the quiet, the outline of the other houses along the street
Just like faces sleeping
I fly over the road and over the sea wall, down the steps to the beach
All the sand and the little shells and stones
And the big rocks just standing there so still and so quiet
Almost like their watching me or waiting on me
As if…as if questioning
I look over at the big mountains of the headland in the far distance sloping down toward the sea
Their great big dark outlines dotted with little lights from all the isolated farms and villages
And there at the very end, the lighthouse, it’s red light winking back at me at intervals
All under a beautiful star laden sky
It’s wonderful, magical looking !  It reminds me of Christmas…the lights at Christmastime.

I fly over the big rocks and the rock pools
Wow! Look now, the sea!  The tide!! The tide is coming in
Like a huge…great army moving stealthily under cover of darkness
Stretching the whole way as far as you can see
Inching its way along, the water filling the little grooves in the sand
Wow!  Just looking at it, watching it, it’s awesome! It’s mesmerising!!
Soon it’ll be joining the rock pools
It’ll be like an army pouring into a city
The water level will rise slowly
And all the sea creatures will start to come out, the *****, the eels and the fish
It’ll all come alive.

So I fly over the silent standing rocks and the strand and the tide that’s coming in heading up toward the village
I pass an open stretch of beach with hardly any rocks
This is where the young families would come
The mothers with their little children to swim and play
But it’s so quiet now…so quiet and desolate…lonely looking
Now the children have all gone
Now there’s only the memory…the echo
Yea! Now there’s only the sound of the ghost children playing, splashing about
Their excited voices still ringing in the air…somewhere
Once as a child I walked these same beaches
I knew every rock
But strangely I can hardly remember myself now
That child I once was
I feel somehow that he left me…left me a long time ago
Old friend we knew each other once, why has your memory faded away from me
Have I changed so much
Do you not know me now or trust me
Am I too scary for you to look at or talk to
Have I sided too much with this world, a world that once used scare and pain you so
You and I, we have wandered far from our old toys
Were forced to play more different grown up games
Had to adopt many guises, wear many different masks
All those things I had to do and those different people I had to become
Just to survive here
Yea! This world it blew us onto many a strange shore,
And now, returning…like an old man from the sea
Weathered and half broken, still with little of any worth to show
Tell me…tell me you haven’t left me…left us
That you haven't abandoned us
Take us with you, we’d rather go with you than stay in this…this empty place
With you there was always wonder, there was always magic…every day
It was always more fun when you were around
…we miss you, where did you go Old Friend ?

I fly on, there’s the old swimming pool
All quiet now, hushed, silent, not a sound
So ghostly, no laughter, no splashing about, no shouts of delight
The night how it offers a contrast to the day
This ghostly world of stillness and of quiet
Of shadows and memories and lost things
And I like a ghost just wandering here
The daylight world remembered from afar as the dead might remember the living.

I fly on over the swimming pool
Now I see the village itself, the street lights and the lights from the pubs still open
A few people out walking along the seafront
Husbands and wives perhaps…young lovers
Y’know I can remember this beach thronged with sunbathers in the summertime
All the colour and the noises
I can…I can remember the wild days, the stormy seas lashing the shore
Remember the high winds buffeting the house at night
I can remember the high tides when the sea would come right up to the steps
Would swamp all the big rocks
All you could see was this huge massive blanket of just blue sea everywhere
And in the Winter time I can remember the snow on the rocks
The snow over everything, so white and clean and fresh, all fresh in the frosty air
And I remember the tranquil Summer evenings, the waves gently lapping up against the shore
Lulling you off to some sweet dream...or dreams faraway.

When I was young I didn’t know what this world was and why I was here
And now, I still don’t know, I’m none the wiser
But wherever I go, I know there’ll always be the sea…
It’s a part of me…these memories, these things I’ve seen
Wherever I find myself, in the heart of a grey city or out in the green countryside
There’ll always be that…that seaside village
Yea! There’ll always be the sea.
I grew up in a seaside village…a seaside village
One time long ago.
Revisiting my past.
Blair Gowrie Sep 2017
They landed in the capital city,
a charming place, but it was a pity
that attractive buildings were not maintained
or looked after at all, but still retained
their original grace, with brass-knockered doors,
and balconies projecting from every floor.
George and his crew went out for a walk,
and wandered through a maze of alleys,
hearing on all sides the people talk
in Spanish, but they did not dally,
but continued until they saw the ocean,
with waves describing a circular motion,
as they frothingly fell on a shore of white
endlessly stretching until out of sight.
The water was calm in shades of blue,
with sometimes a fishing boat in view,
but the beach was empty, no people there,
no swimmers, no sunbathers, not a deckchair.
No children playing and laughing with glee,
just a deserted strand and a tranquil sea.

From The Adventures of George
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
This is an excerpt from my wacky, humorous and satirical narrative poem, The Adventures of George. Read the whole story and meet eccentric characters such as The Maximum Leader, Mustafa bin Maden, Didi Damin, Borrock Sobama and many more.
cheryl love Jul 2017
Rock pools scattered with salty froth
drain quickly to reveal life
Little shrimps cling to samphire
The rushing white wave
beats to the shore
creeping gingerly to the rock cave
as if it has been there before.
The midday sun
settles for the afternoon
the sunbathers just begun
their timed basking on the dune.
A weathered dry oar
lies abandoned on the sand from an old boat
together with bits of ******* washed to the shore
just lying there, anything that would float.
Cracked shells, washed pebbles, and bits of flint
in blues, greys, creams and coral coloured stone
lie draped around the edge of the beach
with seaholly, blue grass and bits of fish bone.
The smell of the sea washes against your breath
you feel alive, but your skin feels dry lie salt
the breath taking views make you good to be there
It is just nice to hear the wind, the sea, the gulls
the call of the dolphin , it is just nice to be alive.
neth jones Jul 2021
tan
humans sunbathing
spread like dying starfish
stranded drying
for the attention of tourists and vendors

the tide rises
the sunbathers retreat
to a controlled poolside setting
Spring...

gardens adorned
in resplendent floral blooms
lovely of display  

Summer...

sunbathers shall lie
on golden beaches of sand
lulled by the sea

Autumn...

plain's grasses turn beige
as fall's air bleaches each blade
of its verdant tone

Winter...

snow clad pinnacles
make for an impressive sight
upon the skyscape
Betty H Sep 2020
Opposites entice
surge of the season
heat scorches the golden sand
swim towels scatter, soda pop cans astray
smell of suntan lotion and seaweed
trickles of waves bubble to the shore
last idle days of summer

Culmination
sun's energy pales
beaches hollow, beseech sunbathers, walkers
footprints of Sandpipers scamper
scents of salty waves swell near the beach
bright red faces fade, scabby skin

Brand new flavor bursts in
muffled breath of cool air
slight breeze swings one's hair
refreshes the core
hints of red, yellow, green hues
alight on leaves
sun glowers
fall beckons

— The End —