Tag Archives: Beach images

Tidelines

Tidelines

The water laps from shore to shore,
From India to Ecuador,
bringing precious things and more—
dried starfish and an apple core,
a never-ending seashell store.

The water laps up ever higher.
The ocean wave will not expire. 
Tide on tide, it does not tire,
topples chair, douses campfire,
to the wind’s insistent choir,

The water laps around my feet
in the day’s insistent heat,
always destined to repeat,
to the moon’s consistent beat,
this constant rising from its seat.

The water laps against the dock.
Listen to its constant knock,
testing the seawall, block on block,
undiminished by the tock

of nature’s ever-ticking clock.

The water laps by halves and thirds
against the sides of ships and birds.
All its shores it scours, then girds,
undetained by  poets’ words.
To stop the sea? it is absurd!

 

For NaPoWriMo’s “repetition poem” prompt.

 

A Sandy Congregation

I love what congregates around the sea.—not the open sea. Rather, where it meets the land. (Photos will enlarge when you click on them.)

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love sand and the things it collects: seashells, jellyfish, sand dollars, starfish, puff fish, sand pipers, sea turtles and even the people who collect at the beach.  It is like they have retreated as far as possible–the next step is either a boat or drowning!  They tend to be individuals, slightly odd–kind of like the people from the western world who congregate in third world locales like Africa.  Perhaps they are this age’s pioneers or trappers.

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Oh yes.  I do love the oceanside, the beach.  Salt. Sand.  I love what collects above the beach as well: frigate birds and pelicans, ibises, sun, moon, clouds.  Above are some of the thousands of images of the beach I’ve collected over the past ten years or so.

I would have to say that my muse is the sea–but not the open sea. Rather, where it meets the land.

 

I admit, this is a reblog of photos from three years ago. The prompt word today was congregate.

“Golden Hour” A Photo a Week Challenge

On the west coast of Mexico, sunset is indeed a golden experience. I especially like the way the ocean tides reflect the colors of the sunsets.  You’ll need to click on the first photo to see these all in a larger size and in better detail.

For the A Photo a Week Challenge

Daniel’s Beach Bar

A La Manzanilla tradition is the gathering each night to watch the sunset on the beach behind Daniel’s real estate office and home.  I happen to rent the house next door and so nightly, even if I don’t always join them, I am still party to the sounds of laughter, talking and glug glug of tequila being poured into shot glasses.  On those rare occasions when there is phosphorescence on the water, the “Ohhhhhhhhh’s” come in loud waves and I run out to share the spectacle. Daniel’s beach bar is only one of the aspects of this special place that make it special, but it is one so familiar to me that I wanted to share it with both those who know it well as well as those of you who don’t. Not written to any prompt, this one is written from the heart and memory:

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Daniel’s Beach Bar

The wormwood planks above the sand,
set on pillars by his hand,
form a bench twelve feet or so
where every night townspeople go
to watch the sun sink in the ocean
and (if they should have the notion)
to share a tequila shot or two,
to chew the fat and share the view.

He is a solitary man,
tall and skeletal and tan.
Shirtless and shoeless, he sits among
the friends, like him, no longer young,
who choose this life of sand and sea
where they can be what they want to be.

A bottle cap sufficient to stub
his cigar smoked down to  nub,
he leaves the ones who gather here,
and grabs another bottle of beer
to stroll back to his office where
for another hour, he’ll type and stare
at the screen where other friends abide,
locked securely there inside.

Tomorrow morning, the town asleep,
the village vagabond will sweep
the sand for butts of cigarettes,
his luck compounded when one forgets
a pack with one or two inside.

And though there’s no one there to chide,
still, he quickly palms them and
moves through last night’s littered sand––
past empty glasses and one or two
tequila bottles devoid of brew.

Last night’s spoils in light of day,

give last night’s revelries away.

(Click on any image to enlarge all)

 

 

Empty Morning

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Empty Morning

Since the fish refuse to come and play,
the fishermen have gone away.
And since there are no fish to score,
the birds have found another shore
to swoop over and sit upon.
The beach is empty when fish are gone.

Yesterday a busy throng
milled on the beach the whole day long.
But today they’ve gone to job
or school or kitchen—the whole mob.
My world is quiet. The ocean swell
once more has a tale to tell
purely itself. No interlopers.
No beer-swiggers or docile dopers.

No kids squealing as they wade
with parents watching from the shade
of palapas strung along the shore
close enough to ocean’s roar
to grab a toddler grown too brave
from the grasp of an ambitious wave.

Once more, the beach is just itself.
The sand has formed an unmarred shelf
just outside my beachside door.
No beach shovels to scoop and gore,
no sandcastles along the shore.
No footsteps strung along the beach
extending far above wave’s reach.

No butts or bottles, abandoned sandals.
No beach graffiti by vandals
innocently written in the sand
with a stick held in the hand.
“Chuy loves Luz” erased by wave,
impossible, perhaps to save
in either beachside sand or heart,
their teenage love doomed from the start.

All these stories tucked away
by one of few who chose to stay
after the throng has returned home,
leaving only ocean foam
that overnight swept them away.
Every morning, a clean new day.

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The prompt word today was minimal.  I used the theme for the poem, but not the word itself.  If you are a prompt-purist and feel the word must be seen, read on:

You won’t find the word “minimal.”
Its presence is subliminal!