Tag Archives: poems about the sea

Waxing, Waning by Enoch Thompson

800px-Ocean_waves_foam by Jon Sullivan

Waves,

curving, beautiful,

ocean cloudy,

yet when you imagine them

they shine the clearest ideal blue.

Salt on your tongue and in your eye

reminds you there is no escape

from grit, from the salty sand ashore,

there can be only less or more.

It’s enough to make you contemplate

a seaweed’s fate or fish’s story

seen from it’s ugly marble eyes,

how the ocean shallows

shift distant horizons

into whole alien

worlds

beyond, behind.

You contemplate waves,

take mental snapshots, recall

precise amounts of sand stirring

at the shuffle of your foot, floating

to the top of the wave like white pepper

in a scratched kitchen glass. You are

limited, terribly limited at counting

grains of sand upon the shore.

Only god has time for that, so

just enjoy the screams of

pleasure, fun, perhaps

a little hidden, silent

panic as the

waves crash

down.

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To read Enoch’s bio and more of his poetry published on WIZ, go here.

Photo by Jon Sullivan

One Leg Up by A. J. Huffman

800px-Pink_Flamingo_@_Temaikén

Flamingos frolic in the surfless still of the sea
side morning’s pastoral.  Limbs and feathers
paint a fantastical fan, this stretching before the sun.
The water dopples,
dolloped with pink reflections.  A mirror
ed magic, reflexive of another dimension.  Alien
in pastel tones of aggressive softness, they
adamantly defend their rights
to this dance.

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To read more poetry by Huffman, go here, here, and here.

Photo by LonghornDave via Wikimedia Commons Images.

Seaside at Eighty by Karen Kelsay

Photo by Karen Kelsay

We’ll breakfast at Las Brisas when we’re gray,
Discussing all our commonalities
And differences, admiring the breeze.
We’ll chatter and remark about the way

The rocking eucalyptus branches seem
To hammock threads of morning sun along
The coast. Pale clouds will sift to butter-cream
And melon, swimming through a blue sarong

Of tinctured sky. I’ll scan the beach and sea
Where I once played in tide pools as a child,
And you will say: The waves are much more mild
On Devon’s shore, I really miss Torquay.

I’ll point to where the purple mussel shells
Are found, then Catalina’s outline might
Appear beyond the shoals of blue-green swells.
We’ll venture down the path and look for white

Sails cutting southward, tilting toward the shore
Where long ago we bathed and sunned before;
And like two cockle halves worn from the weather,
We’ll linger by the oceanfront together.

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To read Karen’s bio and more of her verse on WIZ go here, here, here, here, and here.