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Sonny Duong  Jan 2010
shells
Sonny Duong Jan 2010
eggs shells break like coconuts are delicious

tank shells explode like waterfalls

sea shells are just sea shells

but what about my shells?
Mark Jan 2019
O' sandy shells, o' sandy shells; I know
Why pearly armor 'neath the sand conceal.
The whisper tells, the hearted tells of woe
From windy lisps, begotten ears then seal.
The hush foretells, that love foretells, of pain;
A grief that hollowed clams, collect and feel.
To ease the spells, that love-lost spells refrain,
That lovers old; with broken shells, can heal.
O' empty wells, o' loveless wells; rejoice!
As by the sea; the tiny shells will steal
The burning cells, the lovelorn cells and voice
And nestle where; nostalgic sands congeal.

Yes lover's bells, O' magic bells; let shine!
Turn not to shells, like many shells of mine.
K Balachandran  Jan 2017
Shells
K Balachandran Jan 2017
Well,well,well, I wonder
How quickly one gets
attracted to these shells
lie strewn around, colorfully
without any scheme or theme
but in no way  less attractive
yet making naked soft soles
of itinerant feet bleed
if gets closer than needed.

On a desolate beach
like this one here, we stand
there isn't much else
other than laden sand
one can expect to set eyes on
for a long, long time
unless one is counting
the waves,incessantly rolling out,
waves that won't let you do that job,
the way perfect,you want to accomplish.
What would a wave bring you other than
what you have expected always!

Then comes the time to let
eyes wander on to the naked shells,
spread as if each conceals a cryptic message!
You'd never want to know  what
strange happenings they predict.

Oh! Yes! so many waiting in disorder
with that onetime impatience,
inevitable death's thirst display,
now quenched forever and aye!
Now licked clean by sun and waves,
and time's invisible scaly tongue.
that adamantly kept mum,
when one was all ears to listen.

Shell white in an angry profusion
dominates the sea shore
making sand whiteness mean less,
Staring eyeless *****,just as shells
comes in to dreams as pirates
Shrimps, kills and prawns transform
in to ghostly shells cackling in salty winds.
Shells whispering the stories of pain from the past,
Did i hear someone in a frenzy yell
from a mid sea night darkness.
"**** that shell,with the evil memories
of a death,that drained all semblance
of life,that drained all spirit of life.
"Shells go back to your sleep!
From the dream of return,
Prepare for a life allover again".
Traced eyes with circles,
and a headache, he forgot
all he used to be

replacing nights with
sobbing, he took all he had
and soon went missing

A backpack full of
his blighted heart, taking the
corruption away

Scattering it on
the beach, the tides replaced them
with nothing but shells-
It's like a story. he leaves with a broken heart, scatters the pieces on the beach, and they're replaced with nature.
Àŧùl Aug 2014
As I move on the streets of Mangalore city on the west seafront,
It is an afternoon and the sun is starkly overhead,
Burning, roasting in the hot-dry sky of May.

While en route the beach I passed from a really silent street,
Then I pass from the side of the Rosario Cathedral,
The only person I notice was a young vendor.

The vendor is a little girl who looked determined to empty her stock,
I peered into her basket and was pleased to see in it,
Even today I believe she sits there by the street.

Sitting in the rain or in the harsh, merciless sun she prays to the God,
Just back to her the church apparently has some priority line to Him,
She bribes Him a beautiful sea shell or two if He sends some buyers...

Though I do not need any sea shells, but I still go and spare a look,
I choose a pair of green sea shells and pay her for it,
Because she sells the sea shells by the street side.
I have been to Mangalore, but this poem is partly a product of imagination.
Mangalore city is a port on the western coast of India in the southern state of Karnataka.

My HP Poem #663
©Atul Kaushal
Imelda Dickinson May 2018
WHITE, BLUE CAP WAVES ROAR IN, PULL OUT

SWEEP DEEP OCEAN FLOOR

SHELLS SMOOTH, SHELLS ROUGH, POINT CURVED

PUSH ON BEACH AND SHORE

WAVES AND WINDS SHAPE

ATLANTIC’S COAST

I PICK UP SPECIAL SHELLS FOR YOU

HOLD THEM GENTLE IN YOUR HAND

ARE THESE GIFTS FOR YOU NEW?

SO WHEN YOU SEE YOUR CHOSEN SHELLS

REMEMBER OCEAN WATERS WIDE

STORIES TELL, ABOUT YOUR SHELLS

WHEN CREATURES LIVED INSIDE!

WHITE, BLUE CAP WAVES ROAR OUT, PULL IN

OCEAN TREASURES AGAIN BEGIN
Poem by Imelda Dickinson, Written for the Head Start program. www.imeldadickinson.com
Lora Lee Sep 2016
All strung
out
       on
sadness,
empty shells
of needles
      that injected
the next defense
      to keep me going
splayed upon
the coldness
            of metal
somewhere in a place
lower than
the floorboards
of the nether regions
of a private hell,
where no one sees
      the truth behind
the doors of
           beaten swords
of silken pictures
in frothy shades
of effervescent green
a smiling happy family
in which the
sounds of drowning
can only be
             vaguely heard
a faded gurgle
       in an ocean of sighs

Somewhere, there,
the pain in my veins
spreads like
a self-administered
                       drug
only it's not
my prescription, at all
just a parody
from the very
    sick doctor
who shares
          this house,
meant to
be a home
one who thinks
he knows it all
but knows nothing

In this dreamlike weaving
of staring blankly
into alternative spaces
when all is so heavy
that even breathing is a task
I suddenly remember
   who the **** I am
and push my gaze through
the ceiling cracks
to look up at
         the stars,
receiving their
            shadows
           of light
      like a blessing
   upon my
   nettle-stung
    tongue
and
       rise
Thank you so much for all of your wonderful support! Your comments and responses touched my heart all day long and I felt all the spirit-hugs. I am sending those hugs right back to each and every one of you! <3 <3 ~ Lora


Words may not be fists
but they can still destroy
Chris Apr 2015
.

She collected sea shells
I collected sand
She searched for the perfect one
I reached down my hand

I carried a bucket
A basket she did whirl
Mine was filled with tiny grains
Hers with mother of pearl

She came out each morning
Me, just late at night
She adored the sunrise
I loved the moon light

Then one day it happened
My alarm clock didn’t ring
I woke to a rising sun
It was the weirdest thing

I ran down to the shoreline
My bucket in my hand
It’s then I saw her gorgeous face
While I collected sand

I found a perfect seashell
And watched her eyes grow wide
She held out her basket
I placed the shell inside

Then she reached down before me
And gathered in her hand
I held out my bucket
She filled it up with sand

And now each day and evening
We walk along the shore
She told me that she loves me
And her I do adore

So if you see us out there
Strolling hand in hand
Know...she’s collecting sea shells
And I’m collecting sand
Just for fun........
Jonathan Nunez Mar 2018
Leaves from the vine,
Falling so slow.
Like fragile, tiny shells
Drifting in the foam.

Little soldier boy
Come marching home.
Brave soldier boy
Comes marching home.

These leaves did fall
From branches overgrown.
Drifting slowly down.
Resting all alone.

Little soldier boy
Taken from a home.
Forced to fight a war
That is not his own.

Leaves from the vine,
Falling so slow.
Like fragile, tiny shells
Drifting in the foam.

Little soldier boy
Come marching home.
Brave soldier boy
Comes marching home.

Leaves fell that night
When everything was silent.
No one dared to make a noise.

The little soldier boy
Found his way back home.
His mother wrapped her arms
Around his corpse.

Leaves from the vine,
Falling so slow.
Like fragile, tiny shells
Drifting in the foam.

Little soldier boy
Come marching home.
Brave soldier boy
Come marching home.
Boy! quills were flying this morning. I guess
both David and I woke up on the wrong side of the bed
We were both fussing at each other. We had planned an
early morning trip to the beach and had not had our
liberating cup of morning coffee.
After a while we became more aware and worked on
being sweeter to each other.

As we headed to Coconut Point Beach in Melbourne, Fl, past
the Sandy shoes Hotel,
I thought about what my sister said last night
as I gave her a deep foot massage.

"We, as divine beings are creating everything.
Our experiences are a manifestation of our
thoughts, feelings and actions.
Even scientists are realizing
that there really isn’t anything out there.
It is all a projection of consciousness.
An impermanent motion picture that we get
caught up in and accept as real."

David and I held hands as we walked
along the magnificent shoreline,
gentle waves threw phosphorescent kisses over our feet,
pelicans glided through the gorgeous blue skies.

David stooped to pick up some unusual shells scattered across the
beach. “Look, Sonya… pukalani shells, you don’t see these too often
they have natural holes at the top.  Hawaiians make necklaces
out of these of shells.

I smiled gathering more shells, turning towards the ocean,
the warm amber sun reached out to hug us.
"Yes", I  said to David, “We are like golden spiders
creating a web of happiness or sadness.
It’s all up to us. We just have to remember.”

— The End —