I’d been living in Ventura for two years and never once stepped into the ocean. Today was no different in that matter. But I did wander into the beach. Sand under me. Wind caressing me. It all made sense to leave the water in peace for just another day.
She lifted up the hefty mollusk and shook it a little, putting her ear against the cold shell. Hearing water slosh about inside, she drained it and attempted again. A large smile, out of satisfaction, spread across her face as she witnessed the wind whispering in her ear, spilling its secrets. It was too bad that it’s words were incomprehensible to humans.
Shells, shells, shells – how they captivated me. “Mum, get me some shells from the beaches of Mexico”. Who knows where they are now, not me, must of chucked ’em, what a waste…. the bathroom needs sprucing up.
That trip to the Isle of white will always be remembered, especially for the fun we had on the beach, a butterfly, massive one, landing on me, the sites, the monuments, it was awesome and we all had a great time !!
the shells on the shore reminded me of my childhood visit to the Isle of White, what a wonderful trip that was. (I’m starting again – I missed the new site format with the time-bar, duh!)
I love seashells. I think when I get my own place I want to decorate it with seashells. Something about them just makes me happy maybe because they have such an interesting beauty about them. They’re unique, they make me imagine about places far from where I really am.
like bras on a mermaid
or armor on a slug
they crack
and slacken
and enact a sense
of false security
in a world full of dull prince charmings
and too heavy boots
clambering on wet pavement
after a rainstorm of regrets.
She sells shells by the sea in a shack that her father built, then left as soon as the winds changed. She was lonely, she was complete, she died inside a little more each day but continued to sell her shells as if nothing was out of place and the sea contained only enough shells to satisfy the deep aches inside her.
Broken or whole on the beach, all unique in their own way. Some are smooth around the edges and some are jagged resembling the many people we meat on the beach of life.
By the sea the shells wait for the children and their excited voice. their wonder at such a normal everyday thing. Their amazement at what they’ve always been. Shells
Sea shells by the seashore. Sally sees them, she sells them, she loves them. Its amazing how something so simple could save a life. Sally selling seashells could provide money for food, shelter, anything really… Sally’s seashells are amazing, life is amazing, sally is amazing…
In my house i have a plastic bag full of sea shells I collected from a small, inner Sydney harbour beach. I’m yet to find a purpose for them but I can’t bring myself to throw them away.
protected, curled up sheltered. my shell hides me from the world. carried everywhere, like a hermit crab. Constantly present, forever shielding. But. Always weighing me down.
tsukumo remembers her first time at the beach with utmost clarity. she remembers the cool water splashing up against her ankles and the cries of seagulls far above among the clouds. that feeling of sand between her toes is still fresh in her mind, and so is exactly how much she decided on the spot to hate that sensation. last but not least, she remembers running off with a whole bunch of colorful shells in her arms and presenting them so proudly. as if they were all gold and diamonds.
“hirato…! is it true that you can hear the sea if you hold a shell against your ear?”
Oh shells… the shells by the sea shore? – so cliche. Shells I don’t know where I put my wallet. The new word on the block? Perhaps not – its not cool enough. But I do love sea shells.
We are hollow shells.
That’s how I feel sometimes.
Hollow.
Like a gaping darkness gradually stretching out, the edges broadening until it fills me whole.
Ironic, being filled completely with nothingness.
I feel so much yet feel so little.
are by the sea shore and sally shells them. Are what empty lived people live inside of, are what crabs and shellfish are trapped inside of. Are places of shelter or places of detainment, are shells.
found on the beach usually. beautiful. if you hold them up to your ear you can hear the sound of the ocean. they are usually empty inside. they come in a variety of colors, shapes, and sizes. some of them are old homes to pearls and such.
They are found sprawled all along beaches everywhere. They are almost like old bones; they once contained sea critters but have since been abandoned. They are pretty. Why don’t we consider the remains of humans to be beautiful too? I want to know.
The shells on the beach were broken and corroded from thousands of years of being smashed by the water. I cut my finger on one and my dog tried to lick the wound, but I yanked my hand away, falling backwards into the sand. Lovely.
Shells are found at the beach. They can be colourful and pretty. They are fun to collect. I remember collecting shells with my mum when I was little, and my dad. Some of them were in shapes of fingernails and I used to pretent to give myself a manicure!
Shells littered the beach in front of the Fuin brothers’ home. I remember never being able to walk on it without shoes. The one time I tried, I got cut, and Ano had to take back home.
She saw her life flash before her eyes. Sally turned over the shell in her hand, her fingers brushing over the crevices.
Her breath caught in her throat as she looked over the ocean. Waves crashed against the shore as she finally closed her eyes and got the chance to breathe again.
pretty, ocean, salt. i think of the beach in the summer time and hermet crabs. reminds of being young and only thinking of fun. can you really hear the ocean?
Shells are found at the beach in California which is the place i love, I go there in the summer time. I collect shells with the sand, and put them into a bottle. & then i bring them back home. some shells are beautiful, some have the prettiest of colors on them.
Every day I run from my house to the shelliest beach you’ve ever seen – the sand glistens with the pink and pearl and cream of them – it’s beautiful. This morning I found one of absolute perfection, I imagine I am the mermaid that lived and grew up in it.
I’d been living in Ventura for two years and never once stepped into the ocean. Today was no different in that matter. But I did wander into the beach. Sand under me. Wind caressing me. It all made sense to leave the water in peace for just another day.
She lifted up the hefty mollusk and shook it a little, putting her ear against the cold shell. Hearing water slosh about inside, she drained it and attempted again. A large smile, out of satisfaction, spread across her face as she witnessed the wind whispering in her ear, spilling its secrets. It was too bad that it’s words were incomprehensible to humans.
Shells, shells, shells – how they captivated me. “Mum, get me some shells from the beaches of Mexico”. Who knows where they are now, not me, must of chucked ’em, what a waste…. the bathroom needs sprucing up.
As her hair flows in the wind, she walks with her bare feet on the sand looking for shells as beautiful and colorful as her eyes in the summer sun.
That trip to the Isle of white will always be remembered, especially for the fun we had on the beach, a butterfly, massive one, landing on me, the sites, the monuments, it was awesome and we all had a great time !!
I watched the zombies eat .Soon they would be gone.
I saw the blue shell speeding from behind. I cowered in fear i knew what was to come, it will happen eventually the inevitable, I will come last.
by Mario
the shells on the shore reminded me of my childhood visit to the Isle of White, what a wonderful trip that was. (I’m starting again – I missed the new site format with the time-bar, duh!)
I looked for shells as I walked along the beautiful white sand beach.
I love seashells. I think when I get my own place I want to decorate it with seashells. Something about them just makes me happy maybe because they have such an interesting beauty about them. They’re unique, they make me imagine about places far from where I really am.
The calm feeling you get while touching the sand at the beach.
like bras on a mermaid
or armor on a slug
they crack
and slacken
and enact a sense
of false security
in a world full of dull prince charmings
and too heavy boots
clambering on wet pavement
after a rainstorm of regrets.
Shells. Shells. Shells.
What the shell am I doing?
Hide in my shell. All day.
All night.
She sells shells by the sea in a shack that her father built, then left as soon as the winds changed. She was lonely, she was complete, she died inside a little more each day but continued to sell her shells as if nothing was out of place and the sea contained only enough shells to satisfy the deep aches inside her.
Our shells were scattered on the floor, our past insecurities left to wither into nothingness that would soon be swept away.
Broken or whole on the beach, all unique in their own way. Some are smooth around the edges and some are jagged resembling the many people we meat on the beach of life.
By the sea the shells wait for the children and their excited voice. their wonder at such a normal everyday thing. Their amazement at what they’ve always been. Shells
Sea shells by the seashore. Sally sees them, she sells them, she loves them. Its amazing how something so simple could save a life. Sally selling seashells could provide money for food, shelter, anything really… Sally’s seashells are amazing, life is amazing, sally is amazing…
In my house i have a plastic bag full of sea shells I collected from a small, inner Sydney harbour beach. I’m yet to find a purpose for them but I can’t bring myself to throw them away.
Sea shells by the sea shore, she said. But these weren’t shells, and there certainly was no sea to be seen. I’d missed the most important detail. ….
protected, curled up sheltered. my shell hides me from the world. carried everywhere, like a hermit crab. Constantly present, forever shielding. But. Always weighing me down.
seaside, waves, summer, warmth, sunshine, sand, toenails with nail polish, holidays, fragrance, happiness, my daughter Shelly, swimming, crystal clear water, blue skies
tsukumo remembers her first time at the beach with utmost clarity. she remembers the cool water splashing up against her ankles and the cries of seagulls far above among the clouds. that feeling of sand between her toes is still fresh in her mind, and so is exactly how much she decided on the spot to hate that sensation. last but not least, she remembers running off with a whole bunch of colorful shells in her arms and presenting them so proudly. as if they were all gold and diamonds.
“hirato…! is it true that you can hear the sea if you hold a shell against your ear?”
Oh shells… the shells by the sea shore? – so cliche. Shells I don’t know where I put my wallet. The new word on the block? Perhaps not – its not cool enough. But I do love sea shells.
on the beach
pretty patterns
escapism
freedom
remind me of art
shapes
texture
nature
We are hollow shells.
That’s how I feel sometimes.
Hollow.
Like a gaping darkness gradually stretching out, the edges broadening until it fills me whole.
Ironic, being filled completely with nothingness.
I feel so much yet feel so little.
are by the sea shore and sally shells them. Are what empty lived people live inside of, are what crabs and shellfish are trapped inside of. Are places of shelter or places of detainment, are shells.
found on the beach usually. beautiful. if you hold them up to your ear you can hear the sound of the ocean. they are usually empty inside. they come in a variety of colors, shapes, and sizes. some of them are old homes to pearls and such.
They are found sprawled all along beaches everywhere. They are almost like old bones; they once contained sea critters but have since been abandoned. They are pretty. Why don’t we consider the remains of humans to be beautiful too? I want to know.
seashells in the ocean sand.
me holding a lover’s hand.
seashells in the ocean sand.
waves swish, wash.
my hand in a lover’s hand.
laughing lively lovely along the shore things I see and do adore, I could be among them evermore. All the while I do implore.
The shells on the beach were broken and corroded from thousands of years of being smashed by the water. I cut my finger on one and my dog tried to lick the wound, but I yanked my hand away, falling backwards into the sand. Lovely.
Shells are found at the beach. They can be colourful and pretty. They are fun to collect. I remember collecting shells with my mum when I was little, and my dad. Some of them were in shapes of fingernails and I used to pretent to give myself a manicure!
Shells littered the beach in front of the Fuin brothers’ home. I remember never being able to walk on it without shoes. The one time I tried, I got cut, and Ano had to take back home.
I don’t know what to write about this word. What does it mean? sea…the sound of the sea..the sun, the sunset and sunrise, beer, warm, burned skin
She saw her life flash before her eyes. Sally turned over the shell in her hand, her fingers brushing over the crevices.
Her breath caught in her throat as she looked over the ocean. Waves crashed against the shore as she finally closed her eyes and got the chance to breathe again.
pretty, ocean, salt. i think of the beach in the summer time and hermet crabs. reminds of being young and only thinking of fun. can you really hear the ocean?
Shells are found at the beach in California which is the place i love, I go there in the summer time. I collect shells with the sand, and put them into a bottle. & then i bring them back home. some shells are beautiful, some have the prettiest of colors on them.
white, marked, scratched, beach, listen, hear, sing, sea, necklace, broken pieces, whitstable, water, hermit, crab, lobster, eat, cook, paint, pasta,
Every day I run from my house to the shelliest beach you’ve ever seen – the sand glistens with the pink and pearl and cream of them – it’s beautiful. This morning I found one of absolute perfection, I imagine I am the mermaid that lived and grew up in it.