POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.

LIFE IS A BEACH – A DESERTED BEACH

July 2ndYou arrive at the beach early and realize you are the only person there. The beach seems deserted. Write a poem of a deserted beach. Maybe write a reason why the beach would be deserted. Or give us a view of how you take advantage of the open sands.

KEEPING UP WITH THE WAVES

July 1 – ALOHA! (HELLO)

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211 thoughts on “LIFE IS A BEACH – A DESERTED BEACH

  1. Marjory MT on said:

    DESERTED (Nonet)

    Gazing across the vacant sand,
    the absence of the noise of man
    adds to the tranquility
    while the rhythm of waves
    beacons a response.
    I close my eyes,
    lift my arms
    and I
    dance.

  2. William Preston on said:

    ON THE BEACH IN LATE AUTUMN,

    a single rose
    stands blooming by a brooding dune.
    A single rose.
    Why it is there, nobody knows;
    it is the time of hunter’s moon
    and none is there to tend or prune
    a single rose.

    copyright 2013, William Preston

  3. Serenity (A Sesperian Sonnet)

    I find myself standing here all alone,
    It’s early morning, dawn is just breaking;
    The sand dune where I am is overgrown
    With long grass and wild flowers, shaking
    In the cold wind, and softly rustling;
    Below me, gray sand stretches on and on,
    Rushing down to meat the sea, waves breaking,
    Caps of foam forming, vanishing, they’re gone,
    And still the green-blue waves come crashing on;
    The entire scene is one of utmost peace,
    Nature at Her best to greet the new dawn;
    I lay my head in Her hand, soft as fleece;
    But I know this serenity can’t last:
    It’s the weekend, this beach will fill up fast.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

  4. William Preston on said:

    THERE USED TO BE A COLONY RIGHT HERE

    On the beach,
    one
    piping plover.

    copyright 2013, William Preston

  5. DebiSwim on said:

    A Minute Poem

    Sea Siren

    All alone on this stretch of beach
    no one to breach
    my solitude
    None to obtrude

    The waves ebb and flow, to and fro
    my heart rate slows
    the world abates
    at Neptune’s gates

    She beacons, but I am earthbound
    Tied to the ground
    Longing to be
    Free as the sea

  6. HER PRIVATE DAWN

    Unhurriedly, she strolls the vacant beach
    Caressing sand beneath her naked feet
    As sun remains submerged, just out of reach.
    Slight slap of waves break silence, and repeat.

    She makes her way calf-high into the waves
    While mindfully she breathes the salty air,
    Inhales the deep tranquility she craves,
    Exhales her deepest gratitude in prayer.

    © Copyright Marie Elena Good – 2013

  7. DebiSwim on said:

    This is so relaxing. So much a prayer of praise.

  8. Beachfront Property

    Wiped away…
    the sleep from tired eyes,
    the booze fuzz.
    One huge wave
    from the storm wiped all away
    save me…and sea gulls.

  9. Pingback: Renewed by You | Metaphors and Smiles

  10. Renewed by You
    ~
    Unpeopled
    span of sand.
    Breath in,
    and breathe out-
    crest arrives
    and is drawn away.
    Me.
    Gravity.
    These grains beneath my feet,
    this air in my breast.
    You,
    holding my body,
    harboring my secrets.
    Such stillness within much movement.
    We become one.
    We were always a single soul.
    Ocean of consciousness .
    Sea of eternity.
    Pregnant
    of beginnings and endings,
    life and death,
    love and opportunity.
    Full
    with potential.
    Brimming of
    fresh flesh
    and filling Spirit.
    ~
    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013

  11. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    “Those were the days, my friend” (Mary Hopkin)

    Serenity

    We found our beach.
    Our blanket spread,
    onto the ground
    “No clocks,” he said.

    No one around
    We both lay down…

    Into this quiet, nothing said,
    Breezes singing, there instead

    Windy blowings
    thru our hair
    Nothing mattered,
    just us there.

  12. Night Has Gone from a Beach Waiting for Sunset

    Prehistory, beyond the sea oat dunes, continues
    for unmarked miles, flat-rippled. Even
    the countless waves are almost still.
    Time rests like fog.

    When tankers pacing the Gulf become
    not artificial stars, but shadows:
    a solitary heron.

    Water begins to reflect
    the sky, and the beach
    exits geologic time;
    tide flats are pocked
    where buried mollusks sigh.

    Behind, in the East, day begins.
    Light makes the dark sand squirm
    with thumbnail crabs, and
    from the rough edges of the bay sheltered,
    hidden behind the shadow shifting dunes,
    daybirds:
    perchers, waders, floaters, soarers; swoops, scoops,
    flocks of rabble; songs, whistles, shrieks
    rise from the grass marsh and salt-short trees–lush.


    On the west-facing beach, long
    shadows rise from broken shells.

  13. SADLY OVERCAST AND COLD

    I stand on the sand waiting,
    sadly anticipating your arrival.
    The wind blows cold leaving me
    wanting your warmth and comfort.
    The skies are grey, not a day
    for sun worship. The clouds cluster
    looking to bluster, a burst of thunderous
    downpour. I slip my sweatshirt
    over my head, and the smell
    of dead fish rises, littering the shore line
    and corrupting the crisp air I find there.
    Even the gulls huddle and scuttle en mass
    passing under the guard stand across the sand.
    And there I stand near the shore waiting,
    anticipating your arrival that never comes, sadly.

  14. Finally

    Heavenly weather
    Sunny and warm
    Blue cloudless skies
    Panhandle perfect
    Beach chairs and umbrella
    Towels and sun screen
    Flip flops in rhythm
    Marching the dunes
    Last crest ascended
    Smiles stretch the lips
    White sands deserted
    Summer has past

    © 2013 Earl Parsons

  15. ejparsons on said:

    A Life Fulfilled

    His mind drifts back sixty years past
    A time when life’s mold was recast
    He’ll never forget, it was six o’clock
    When first he saw her on the dock

    His lonely heart her beauty slays
    His lonely life ends on that day
    A life fulfilled in so many ways
    A life of thanks given every day

    The place they met he now returns
    This time his heart on empty burns
    He walks the beach where first they met
    With memories he will never forget

    He checks his watch; it’s six o’clock
    He walks his love onto the dock
    Drops to his knees and says a prayer
    And frees her ashes into the air

    Inside the urn he drops a note
    Seals it shut and sets it afloat
    He watches ‘till it’s out of sight
    Then ends his fulfilled life that night

    © 2013 Earl Parsons

    • Poignant and sad… 😦

    • William Preston on said:

      Wow. Rivetting work.

    • I had to do a little more work on this one.

      A Life Fulfilled

      His mind drifts back sixty years past
      A time when life’s mold was recast
      He’ll ne’er forget at six o’clock
      When first he saw her on the dock

      His lonely heart her beauty slays
      His lonely life ended that day
      A life fulfilled lay in full view
      A life of one made out of two

      For six decades they walked through life
      Through good and bad, heartache and strife
      Their love survived through all that may
      Unshakable in every way

      His mind drifts back sixty years past
      Why had the years gone by so fast
      He wished he could turn back the clock
      When he first saw her on that dock

      The place they met he now returns
      This time his heart on empty burns
      He walks the beach where first they met
      With memories he’ll ne’er forget

      He checks his watch; it’s six o’clock
      He walks his love onto the dock
      He prays as he drops to his knees
      Sets free her ashes in the breeze

      He thanks the Lord for such a gift
      And sets the empty urn adrift
      His feet foam wet with salty white
      He follows her into the night

      © 2013 Earl Parsons

    • Beautiful…last two stanzas…so affecting.

    • Henrietta Choplin on said:

      Oh… I hurt with this one…!!

  16. {The scene: The pale pink beaches of Bermuda (photograph on my blog)}

    Bliss

    A moment alone with you…
    the beach.

    The gradient hues
    of the turquoise sea
    calm the soul in my eyes
    and the tangy sea spray
    clings to my skin
    until I feel like an extension of the sea.

    Lulled by the cadence of her song
    as her jewel encrusted waves
    caress the pale pink sand
    beneath my painted toes.

    With my eyes wide open
    I inhale the sight,
    the sound,
    the smell,
    the taste,
    and the feel …
    of holding a moment of bliss
    with just me
    and the sea.

  17. ALONE

    Alone with the sand.
    Alone with the water.
    Alone with the sky.
    Alone with my thoughts.
    Alone with my troubles.
    Alone with my joys.
    Alone for a moment
    or alone for a lifetime?

  18. connielpeters on said:

    Meeting at Dawn

    The sun appears to be adrift at sea.
    A seagull silhouette squawks harsh greetings.
    This morning, it’s just the seagull and me.
    But there is someone else I’ll be meeting.
    The bird, the sun and sea, He made all three.

  19. July 2 Life is a Deserted Beach

    Sands upon this beach
    once turned my castles; dreaming;
    sparkling, out to sea.

  20. (rewrite)

    Sands upon this beach
    once rushed my dreamy castles,
    sparkling, out to sea.

  21. Pingback: Strand | Whimsygizmo's Blog

  22. This should be centered (and is, on my blog). Don’t know how to do that, here. 😉

    Strand

    Soothed and swayed
    by these solitary sands,
    she sifts her soul
    through salty hands.

    Flip flops
    sunscreen
    shades
    she’s
    got ’em.

    Also one
    lingering
    question:

    Is this
    the top of the hourglass
    or the bottom?

    .

  23. Pingback: Beachfront Beginnings | echoes from the silence

  24. Hurricane Swells

    There are others like us
    who ride out the storms,
    one ear listening to the radio
    and TV forecasts while boarding
    windows, securing shutters,
    watching the tourists go,
    the beaches emptying
    as if a big broom swept them clean.

    The old ones don’t need forecasts,
    instead walking over the dunes
    to witness the color of the roiling sea,
    the direction of waves, gauging
    the undertow, waving in the surfers
    wild for a storm swell to ride,
    marking the sea oats and scrub
    pines huddling close to stinging sand.
    Every storm of their lives
    every storied storm they’ve known
    informs them, and we rely
    on our own bravery or stupidity
    and their expertise. Radical faith
    is brought to bear on the few
    who stay behind.

    The old ones, lifelong locals,
    know things about staying put,
    doing without power, eating
    food cold by candle light,
    hunkering down, and listening
    to God’s big breath blow
    over them, not fool-hardy at all,
    but humbled, waiting, questioning,
    accepting a place for what it is.

    After some storms, the dunes
    are gone, whatever can fly
    or float upended in a yard,
    but the living shrug, laugh
    relieved, survey the damage
    and start to put the beach
    back where it belongs,
    in front of a sleepy, smiling
    ocean, tired as a child
    after a tantrum, its waves
    sighing in a breathy snore.

    • Henrietta Choplin on said:

      OH!! “…in front of a sleepy, smiling/ocean, tired as a child/after a tantrum, its waves/sighing in a breathy snore. (My little Granddaughters had soo many meltdown tantrums this visit and you have just made them all Beautiful, Jane!!!) Thank you!!! :D!!

    • Thanks, friends, for such kind comments. I’m barely getting a poem a day, but this is such a great challenge. Thanks, Marie and Walt, for yet another great idea.

  25. William Preston on said:

    Oh, another superb story, with so many memorable words forming pictures. Never would’ve thought of the ocean snoring….

  26. So many, many beautiful phrases in this poem, Jane…”witness the color of the roiling sea,” “storied storm” “listening to God’s big breath blow , its waves” “sighing in a breathy snore.” Love these!!

    Your poetry always holds elements of timeless beauty!

  27. Sands of Silence

    Don’t end
    your love
    on a beach
    with only the sea
    to bear witness.
    A heart
    bleeding
    out alone
    in the sand
    takes a long time
    to empty
    and never
    stops aching.
    As eyes filled
    with tears watch
    the one leaving
    walk away
    into forever,
    where the sky
    kisses the horizon
    and it’s all
    you can do
    not to fall
    to your knees
    and beg the fates
    to undo it,
    make it different
    make it whole…
    The beach
    is for fun,
    not for sadness…
    don’t end
    your love
    on the sand.

  28. Serenity’s Shore

    By David De Jong

    Serenity walks a lonely shore

    Emptiness expounds the air
    Desolation conjuring despair
    Confident what you see isn’t there

    I am but a single grain of sand
    Sifted gently from my Masters hand
    My past, present, future; all His plan

    He walks along serenity’s shore

  29. Color Me Happy

    An open beach
    Empty
    So full Of possibility
    And when I plant
    My canvas chair
    Breathe in fresh salt air
    My inner child skips
    Deliriously Because
    I am completely
    Free
    To sit and soak up sun and sea
    Uninterruptedly

  30. Blotting Out

    Pale sky of morning,
    sand wiped clean of prints,
    ocean whispers of ebbing tide.

    No gulls screech overhead
    No sailboats shift currents
    No sound, save my own breathing.

    Let this not be a dream.

    (Day 2 – Arrive early, beach is empty)

  31. Quiet Beach

    The answers to our prayers two summers back
    have at last been answered, pressed down
    running over. Now instead of drought, water
    rationed, we’re floating away, the lawn squishes,
    vegetables rot where they touch the soggy ground.

    The sunscreen displays stay full at every CVS
    and beach store, cheap plastic ponchos,
    umbrellas, have been moved by the register.
    The dark clouds move in daily, thunder
    growling. No one calls it heat lightning.
    Instead, the few families braving the beach
    bundle the kids, grab their totes and chairs
    and flip-flop their way back to their rooms.

    Already wet, I choose to stay outside alone,
    one eye on the storms mirrored in the waves
    churning sand and seashells. With no one here
    but hungry seagulls, their begging gig gone bust.
    Walking toward the farthest pier, I look behind.
    and catch my own footprints disappearing.

  32. Pingback: Two Poems for the Beach | The Chalk Hills Journal

  33. Emptied But For Stars

    There is no such thing as “alone”.
    I stand here at midnight, the sky
    emptied of clouds and this beach
    silent and emptied of the day’s
    frolic and noise, and I watch
    400 billion stars watching
    my every move.
    I’m no more alone on this
    emptied beach than my mind
    is vacant when I sleep.

  34. Marjory MT on said:

    (Skeltonic Poem Form)

    . I wonder to the bay
    and on the sand lay,
    to watch for the moon
    that will come up soon
    to bath the land at night
    in soft, entreating light.

    It plays tag with a cloud
    that tries to crowd
    the stars that shine
    (They are sublime)
    as they all seek
    ‘round cloud to peek.

    Then sway with tide
    As they dip and hide.
    flooding beach with light
    Almost daylight bright
    While on the beach
    Night critters creep
    To find a save repose
    Where no one else goes.

    There comes a light flash,
    Moon reflecting a fish splash,
    I hear the soft sound
    In tide motion found.
    And lay at easy
    In the soft breeze.
    When the night birds call
    I can no longer stall.

    So rising to my feet
    A steady step I keep
    Using the moon light to guide
    As it stays at my side.
    The beauty of the place
    Nothing can erase,
    ‘Til the moon is over head,
    And I must seek my bed.

    I leave my night post
    To let all the water host,
    Along the beach to roam
    As I turn to head home.
    Deserted beach might seem,
    but with life it teems.

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