22 thoughts on “JULY COVID-19 P.A.D. – DAY 27 EVERYTHING IS BEACHY

  1. BUT, IS IT REALLY? by Walter J Wojtanik

    I walk down the pathway
    From ship to shore, I abhor
    The barren nature of this place.
    No children squeal with joy
    With their pails and shovels,
    No girl and boy strolling along
    As the waves lap their toes.
    The sand is still hot, but filled
    With obstacles of driftwood and
    Un-returned returnables.
    The summer that never was
    has gone out with the tide.
    The horizon tries to hide
    Its embarrassment
    since the beach balls had vacated.
    We’ve waited all winter for a glimpse
    The sun, swimmers slathered in lotion
    And the notion that this umbrella
    Will save me from a nasty burn.
    Maybe I’ll return next year as long
    As this virus doesn’t.

  2. Laugh

    L otion slathered on pale skin. Pail
    A nd shovel tucked under the beach
    U mbrella. Flippers, snorkel
    G oggles, underwater camera.
    H orizon only filled with clouds and sea

  3. At the Blue House

    His toys are beached
    on the handkerchief
    size patch of concrete
    that passes for a patio
    cracked and split by trees’
    roots pocked by rusting
    grills abandoned pots

    but he hunkers down
    beside his bright red pail
    rolled by the breeze into
    a spinning circle arranges
    his spade and rake and
    goes to his memory

    white sand lapping
    at the shore of Clinton Lake
    even as he looks up to see
    if any gulls sail between
    the yellowing elms then
    places a plastic lid inside
    the black cup from his stroller

    begins to shake the two until
    music of maracas fills the air
    and the place transforms into
    another stretch of sand along
    the Gulf just the man

    squatting with his guitar over
    one knee while at the edge
    of glittering water a woman
    clicks maracas beneath sun
    glinting from ringed fingers
    her twirling skirts.

  4. PATROL

    As regular as the tide
    the ring-billed gulls alight;
    like sand and wind and waves,
    they are a summer sight.

    Ah, but here’s the rub:
    they come in winter too;
    all it takes are scraps
    that eaters drop askew.

  5. Trimerica

    America’s Finest City

    We’ve grown accustomed to the sun,
    we feel entitled, everyone.
    The nights, while cool, still hold their cheer,
    no holding back the summer fun.

    We feel entitled, everyone,
    beaches, parks, two great zoos,
    weather perfect, mostly number one.

    The night’s, while cool, still hold their cheer,
    a little dampness here and there,
    this town’s renown its crafted beers.

    No holding back the summer fun,
    for locals, tourists, conventioneers,
    joy and laughter, everyone.

  6. We live less than an hour from the best beaches in the nation. And we love the beach when it’s just the locals, if you know what I mean.

    Life at the Beach

    From the safety of my beach chair
    Under my heat reflecting umbrella
    I observe the variety of goings on
    Through my black dark transitions
    And wonder why I am here

    Our snow white sand is littered
    With pails and shovels and beach balls
    Blankets that violate social distancing
    All the way to the distant horizon
    Oh, isn’t tourist season grand

    Now flies in a flock of seagulls
    Some kid decided to feed one
    Now his parents have to take cover
    Lest they wear the gull droppings
    Now that’s kind of funny

    That guy on the blanket for an hour
    In the intense sun wearing goggles
    Just wait ‘til he looks in the mirror
    His wife isn’t saying a word
    She’ll be laughing the most

    Then the wind kicks up the sand
    The waves become high and fast
    The lifeguard raises the red flag
    And the tourists run quickly away
    Now that’s more like it

    The wind calms and the sun returns
    The waves become pleasant again
    The red flag’s replaced by the green
    My wife smiles and takes my hand
    Ahh, this is life at the beach

  7. Chuck That Umbrella

    Come out from under
    your umbrella. Leave
    the security of your
    blanket, and walk
    that sun-warmed sand
    down to ocean’s edge.
    Watch a ledge of waves
    roll in, hear cries
    of gulls, feel the wind
    sticky on your lotioned
    arms. Swimmers call
    to each other. Beach
    balls are tossed back
    and forth. Your horizon
    is a perfect blue.

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