July 27th – The vacation, as they usually do, is starting to wide down. We need to start thinking about returning “home” to our routine. We’ve had fun. We’ve relaxed. We daydreamed and envisioned better things for the world and ourselves. Look out to the horizon and realize there are many possibilities to ponder. Write a ‘horizon’ poem.
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KEEPING UP WITH THE WAVES
July 25 – Collecting Seashells
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
New Horizons
New Horizons beckon new beginnings
New beginnings lead to new paths
New paths eventually guide you better roads
Better roads take you to destinations unimaginable
With the stars by your side
Under a crystal canopy sky
With a deep breath and a sigh
Let the journey begin.
Forward.
Like this – used to live on a street named “New Horizons”
Nice.
*sigh* indeed…nice one!! Love the feel of poss ability in this. 🙂
That’s just possibility…ahem. 😉
Yes, that would be nice.
[…] Written for Poetic Bloomings “Life is a Beach” – Day 27: Horizons. […]
DOCKED
The gentle lapping of waves
against the small boat
calms me; lulls me.
With eyes closed I can see
the small family of three.
with their dog alongside.
Their voices, like music,
as they gather their things
after a full day at the beach.
Laughing.
Playing. Chasing.
Embracing.
I feel myself smiling
as I watch the scene unfold.
Opening my eyes,
the smile fades,
as I stare blankly
into my empty horizon.
2013-07-27
P. Wanken
Nice images and love the contrast at the end.
Yes; almost like a slap in the face. Powerful.
*slap* 😉
Thanks, William.
Thanks, Benjamin.
Well done 🙂
thank you, Marjory
ENDING
At night,
red horizons,
they say, bring fair weather,
but your red-rimmed eyes proffer scant
delight.
copyright 2013, William Preston
I love the speaking red horizons.
VISTAS
Feet planted firmly on shore
ready to take that next step.
The possibilities are boundless,
but we must choose to do
what is best, and the rest must
understand. The promise of
a new day is not as distant
as you think. On the brink of
a brave new world. Give it a whirl.
Hi Walt! I love the contrast between standing firmly and being ready to take the next step into the brave new world.
Go for it, Walt
Across the Ripples
The sun sits on the horizon
shining a golden path across the ripples.
The boulders of the rocky shore
become black boats
sailing toward glowing sky.
When the Son’s centered on our horizon,
shining a golden path across the ripples,
we change in His light
following the golden path
to glowing heavens.
Yes indeed!
Ado
I’m on my way
to a land in the north
where the sky is clear
and Fur Elise cannot buzz in my ear.
So, goodbye my good fellows
enjoy the daily grind
I’ll be lying above the rocky beach
swaying in my hammock
as I listen to the loons…
and as the sun sets below the horizon
I’ll think of you – briefly…
sending you a kiss on the wind
as I go back to watching the show,
the Aurora Borealis.
“Sending you a kiss on the wind” very nice.
Such a show, and more so over one of those lakes. Wonderful ambience you’ve painted here.
Need (want) company – I’d go!
This one’s kinda like me – older and poked and jabbed a bit.
Range in the Sky
By David De Jong
Not really sure what caused all this to come to a cowpoke’s mind,
Ain’t suff’rin’, or ill, just celebratin’ life, feelin’ just fine.
But there is this one bequest I make before the day I die,
Take me home, with my boots an’ hat, to that range up in the sky.
Where the sky is blue, where the herd and horizon never end,
Every campfire warms a gurglin’ pot, and many-a friend.
When the ground gets parched, pasture’s turnin’ brown, and the roots are dry,
I’ll round up a herd of rain clouds and drive em down from the sky.
With a cool steady breeze coaxin’ em in silent from the east,
It’ll nourish the earth back to life for a bountiful feast.
Won’t be a need to hurry, no cause for anyone to fret,
Though the sun may touch the horizon, she’ll never, ever, set.
Darkness forever gone, evil of night, eternally lost,
Shed blood of a pure Lamb, God’s perfect Son, its ultimate cost.
No matter the length of the trail my mount will never tire,
This range is open an open range – not a post – no sight of wire.
Whenever you begin sheddin’ a tear or just strivin’ to cope,
I’ll coral those clouds and steer a ray of light, to shed some hope.
The Paint and I will race the cirrus and give a hasty chase,
We’ll make that ol’ cloud break, and drive sun beams, till they touch your face.
I’ll sit round the fire and hear stories from David and Paul,
They’ll tell of their adventures and help me make sense of it all.
Paul’s ride on the trail to Damascus when he lost all his sight,
What went thru his mind, when Christ spoke to him from that blindin’ light?
David will show his scars from battle and beasts of the field,
He’ll let us hold the stones and sling, that made Goliath yield.
So when the day comes and I’m gone, don’t you fret for me; no, none,
Rest assured, I know my fate’s secure, with my Savior, God’s son.
The Almighty beat the devil at his game of having fun,
Nothin’ I can do to pay my price, Father and Son, have won.
Make sure ya’ll place Him in your heart, before your days are done,
Do it now; before the trigger’s pulled, before lead leaves the gun.
Hankerin’ to greet; Mom, Dad, Pakka, Beppe and Tantje Bet,
I know there’ll be a-slew of kin around, haven’t ever met.
I hope when you think on me, you shed a smile, never a tear,
Just remember, as you pass the pines, I’ll whisper in your ear.
I’ll relish all the memories of joy; I’ll understand the pain,
You’ll know the day it happens – when tears of joy come down as rain.
You take your time, take no concern, of comin’ up there too late,
Reins in hand, I’ll be waitin’, patient like, right at the front gate.
Come evenin’, on that day the old hearse rolls and passes ya by,
Look to the west, I’ll be a-ridin’ fresh horse, paintin’ the sky.
Hi David, this is quite a tale here and nicely written.
Cute.
Life’s a Beach – Horizon poem
I ponder how our marriage to the sea
so faithful to the shoreline, turns again.
Again, the lapping rhythm of the wave,
she aims; her arms aglow, an endless gift.
Attenuated shoreline moves about,
her decibels repeated; hear her sighs.
The sea , our mother, entreats and enfolds
a world of tears for those who, silent, cry.
A walk along this water’s breaking morn,
ave; farewell my heart. We had our play
along this ever-restful, peaceful shore
where love repeats with more love than before.
(still working on learning how to write blank verse… it is strange how the rhyme comes, anyway, even when I think less about it)
I think you’re doing great.
Benjamin
I don’t think the last line would have as much power, unrhymed.
I agree, and sometimes in blank verse, the concluding lines just need a little satisfying something. You’re doing fine, JC
BUCKET of DREAMS
(Rondelet).
Bucket of dreams
Brim full of possibilities
Bucket of dreams
collected ‘neath the soft moon beams
of things to do, places to see,
promises, hopes of what might be.
Bucket of dreams.
I wish I had more time just now to read and comment – it is just not to be. So…. I am looking forward to enjoying the Chap Books of Beach poems
Love this.
Thank You.
A Line at the Feet of the World
A line stretches my vision far and wide,
a line that moves when I do, always there
beyond me, teasing, tucking things inside
I long to see and touch, to lift and bear,
although I sit along a shore and stare.
Sometimes imagination lets me reach
and walk that far horizon like a rope
above the dimpled waves, the world a beach
long miles away, as pristine as my hope–
Queen of the air, the sky within my scope.
I curl my toes around it, hold a beam
for balancing my busy mind, for calm,
and see another line beyond, a dream
of beauty, promise, like a rising psalm.
Touching forevers smooth me like a balm.
Sometimes it seems horizons’ magic grids
across my life framed possibilities
that I could realize by what I did,
unopened doors to selves, lithe dancing keys
to what I might become, to vanities.
I watch sky coloring, but do I dare?
I take the challenge, leap and bounce around;
I thrill myself, a sunset in my hair.
Each place I look, new horizons abound,
the one I walk, just steps above the ground.
Superb work, and the rhymes are calming, settling sounds. Wonderful. And that phrase, “line that moves when I do,” is perfect, perhaps even another instance of sneaky fast.
This is an older, refurbished poem, but I still hum this song when someone mentions horizons to me, then I remember Miss Annie. Sorry for repetition.
Rising Sun
“Beyond the blue horizon/ Waits a beautiful day / Goodbye to things that bore me/ Joy is waiting for me./ I see the new horizon/ My life has only begun/ Beyond the blue horizon/ Lies a rising sun.” Howard and Cochran
Miss Annie whistles better than a man
as if she’d played a trumpet in her youth—
a fulsome sound, rounded with vibrato.
It’s beautiful to hear; it warms the heart.
Cleaning and nursing staff love helping her
to hear her hum or whistle something grand:
some Louis Armstrong, love songs, or big band,
the music she once danced to, each old song
a memory that fills part of a day
now that she’s old and like a comma, bent.
This snappy melody makes them all smile
and even young ones want to know the words.
She warbles, “Goodbye to things that bore me…
life has only begun…” How their eyes shine.
She sings and whistles grandly up the hall
curled in around her walker, moving slow.
She suffers pain, but you would never know
the way she greets a day and meets each eye.
She’s what the old ones call a “sweetie pie”;
her music lets them visit former days,
remembering when they were young and spry,
slender and fond of flirting, dancing, sex.
Sometimes one of her songs sticks for a day
in their old minds, where long ago abides.
A young attendant brings his worn guitar
to learn her songs, share camaraderie
with her young spirit, his thoughts years ahead,
imagining his body gone to seed,
imagining dark shadows in his head.
He wants to be like Annie, one sweet day,
He wants to be a sweetie pie with hope
in new horizons, faith in rising suns.
This is a wonderful story, again beautifully told. We were thinking of the same old song.
Well, I know the words AND the music to the song you quote in
first stanza, though I am far from a “sweetie pie”…
OVER THERE (Parsons poem)
The sea
always draws me:
it speaks of mystery
and every possibility
beyond the blue horizon.
copyright 2013m William Preston
Indeed…the sea has that drawing strength in so many ways. Well done, William.
A lot said in a few words. I’m going to try that one of these days ;).
That’s the song.
Thanks. I can still see and hear Jeannette MacDonald singing it from a train. I thought the songwriters were Leo Robin and Richard Whiting, though.
Yep, it does.
[…] LIFE IS A BEACH – HORIZONS-Poetic Bloomings […]
This one is an etheree that I wrote to an image that’s featured on my blog…a moon in the horizon.
Of the Horizon
~
Wisps
clasped hands,
feather white
fingers unfold
revealing the moon.
Soon palms are cupping her
holding her invisibly,
suspended in an inky sheet
arms of cloud steal away into night-
leaving a lunar portal behind them.
Under the gaze of her unblinking face
we do not shy away in her light
our shoulders and heads are held high,
illuminated by her
offering self-skyward
lit with her pale kiss-
we are tokens.
Horizon.
Beings.
One.
~
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013
This piece feels like the moon throughout the night: rising and setting. It’s ethereal in tone, too, or so it seems to me.
Thank you for saying so, William! I’m glad that this embodied the image and form…win-win! 🙂
Beautiful., Hannah
Thank you!
SEEN FROM QUEENSTOWN PIER, 11 APRIL 1912
The ship
is fading fast
from view, taking with her
dreams, schemes, and extreme hopes toward
the far bright rim of the world.
copyright 2013
The Titanic with its hopes, schemes, dreams unrealized…that’s for sure!
Far Away Horizons
How prominent in breadth
and importance earthlings think
there planet is, when far away a scope
in space takes pictures, showing
a small blue dot. Earth is only
a speck in their horizon. Perhaps
we ought to broaden our own.
Very well put!
Thanks, William!
For sure, Sara
Thanks, Marjory.
In the Wings
It’s fairy dust, really,
this sandy stuff. And if
you sprinkle enough
in your hungry pocket
or pants cuff, smuggle
it home in bucket
or shell,
it might sprinkle loose
and stay.
It’s a new day, and that fat
sassy sun is still gonna come
up strong. Let’s sparkle
-dust her dawn, for we
might as well rise,
as well.
.
[…] …. Written for Poetic Bloomings, Day 27. […]
MY HORIZON
I look out across the distance,
across time,
across life.
I see our joys and stuggles,
our triumphs,
and our strife.
We’ve been through it all together,
through laughter,
and through tears.
We’ve shared our lifelong journey,
our life goals,
and our fears.
I am so lucky to see this horizon
and my life
joining you.
We have have been quite fortunate
in sharing
such a view.
Trust is tangible
Taste it in the air
Entire family near
She can fly high
His arms her wings
Trust at Dusk
http://irisinbloom.wordpress.com
Marie, I was trying to post this with just the beautiful pic of my granddaughter and the poem, but somehow it posted EVERYTHING. I am technically challenged. Please clean this comment up. A big oops. LOL
Done deal, Iris. So good to see you out here again!
Marie
Bright, Shining Future
What’s this…
I see?
Puppies, pictures, and poetry…? 🙂 !!