I love shells, they remind e of holidays. I wish I was on the beach right now. I’d like to decorate my future lounge in a nautical theme, with shells everywhere. I love shell jewelry, because it’s tropical, and excotic.
The tide just came in. What had been sure ground David was walking on vanished into a cloud of water and sand, and David tumbled. He rolled head over heels out to sea, like a small shell that used to have something inside of it.
“Sally sells sea shells on the sea shore.” I wonder if Sally grew up with these hopes and aspirations, if she did indeed wish to become a sea shell salesman or did she just fall into it because she had made no other plans? Was it just something she did to put food on the table and did it bring enough money to do so?
shells are often found on the beach, they are fun to look at and nice to see. This one time at the beach we walked for miles looking for the perfect shells. It was hard but we did it, we found the most gorgeous shells off the Jersey Shore that day. There were bright shells and dark shells and shiny shells and tiny shells.
The shells were small and sharp, and the beach seemed more full of them than sand. Barefoot wasn’t really an option here, for they would cover your feet in tiny cuts. But now and then, as you trudged along, you’d find a big piece or maybe even an unbroken one, white with purple swirls, and you’d feel really, really small.
And another day at the office. I come home daily feeling as though I have sat for long periods with my ear to sea shells. There is a hollow echoing, a distant booming reduced to faint waves of sound seems to surround me. These is an eerie absence of content of substance in the sounds. It is as if I have been dreaming all day, imagining, and in my imagination the faint impressions become more than illusion and I populate whole worlds for them. The sounds are ever receding but never go away.
Everyone has shells. I don’t mean the ones on your mantelpiece but the ones we wear to keep the world off our backs. The one called Questions I Will Not Answer, or the one called Things I Won’t Do.
They are found at the beach. They are beautiful and of all shapes and they can be used as jewelleries. Tourists often buy them at artisanal shops, It is found in sand and in seas. It is used as decoration purposes.
Collections of stuff that you can find at beaches. Different animals and stuff make ‘houses’ out of them and naturally produce them. Other animals steal them. And people collect them to make pretty art.
I remember keeping shells and stones, that i thought were beautiful, in a little square formed basket.
but what do i even like about them
maybe it’s this process of searching and finding
or that their is just one shell like this
or maybe it’s to take something from outside inside,
like i liked to do with
the rabbit,
the chair,
the snails,
the plants,
the food,
but i don’t like them anymore
they’re too accepted as something beautiful already
i would feel cliché wearing them
shell necklace, shell earings
i don’t like shells anymore
did i ever like them that much?
i remember much more liking the trash at the beach
trashed clothes
bottles
shells..
She sells seashells buy the seashore. It’s really a silly thing to do, if you think about it. It wouldn’t be very profitable. This “she,” whoever she is, should collect her merchandise and head inland. Maybe make some jewelry out of it.
They are the crystals of the beach, they glisten and reflect the sun into the sky. They hold the sounds of the sea even if you take them far from the shore. Wear them, eat what came from within them. They are beautiful.
Shells are seen at the beach. Some animals use it as their home. Snails are examples of this. They make the beach beautiful. Tortoise also lives in a shell. They are shiny at times. They are sold at various outlets.
shells
seashells
she sells seashells by the seashore.
that has definitely got to be one of the hardest tongue twisters (for me) to pronounce.
i mean i can say ‘peter piper picked a peck of pickled peppers’ and ‘how much could would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck would’ pretty easily.
Oh more shells? I imagined something very different in my head. I was thinking maybe tigers or some other word so I could make an amazing story of it. I want to make a great story but I cannot type as fast as others as I keep making mistakes and my speed is not as fast.
Shells are so beautiful, I like to walk along the beach at the ocean and see all the different shells that have washed up son shore here. I think of the little creatures that once inhabited these shells and think of their life among the tides. .
When I was a child I loved to collect seashells at the beach. I used to put the big ones against my ear on the drive home and pretend I was still at the seaside.
I’d close my eyes and listen, pretending the waves would come and take me away, away from a life that did not include the sea.
I used to dream of oceans filled with candy.
Candy shells.
Pistachio shells make great thimbles, Grandmaw says. I tell her to speak for herself – we don’t all got fingers the shape of crisply-sharpened number 2 pencils.
Scattered in her hair, were the remains of the men she had once loved. When another came along, her materialistic personality had given in and she had been forced to give up her lover, to make room for a new one. This happened over and over again, in a constant cycle of love and then love again. But she was also selfish – she couldn’t bear to part with them, so she turned them into shells and traced them along the edges of her ear.
As I wade in the water, the sun streaming down on the murky water, my foot brushes over something. My heart immediately leaps out of my chest, but thankfully, it was only a few shells.
I was walking a long the beach, it was windy , it was beautiful, it was perfect. The sun was just setting and the waves were pouring over my feet again and again. No running away from them, there was no need because they only brought me stillness and solitude. The shells beneath my feet gave a texture I could never forget. They reminded me of all of the obstacles I had faced in my life and how I got to be there on that beach on that day. The places I had been and the people I had seen. Each shell was a still frame of my life up until that point.
Shells, cracking, tinkling against each other in the mesh bag we carried empty to the shore and now carry, full, back. Together, we’re fucking always together, and we’re always two people, and we’re always apart. I once wrote in the sand, Maybe someday, and the same sand sinks our toes closer to the centre of the world, and the someday may have come, but you were drifting out to sea…
hands are shaking and the earth does quake
cell phone’s buzzing and the money makes
cold cocked words are forever phrased
when she rips cheating and your love is framed
in that picture on a beach; a phrased forgotten seas
stuffed sand in seashell echoes the moist debris.
Shells. The seashore, something about the way the ocean can be heard when you put one to your ear. Like it’s calling you. Telling you that freedoms this way. It’s so easy to get lost at sea. I hope it happens to me one day. Drifting out there, the sun beating down. Stumbling across an island paradise to make my home away from all the troubles of society.
I used to collect shells when I was a kid. Back when my parents were nice enough to give me and my two older sisters a ride to the local beach. We were poor, had one broken down car, and with two parents who both worked full time, we barely went out. I had so much fun those days at the beach though. I loved the different colors, smells, textures, and looks.
Macaroni shells are good for eating. Yummy cheese sauce or marinara. Shells at the beaches can be fun. Unless they’re all crushed up and sticking you in your feet! Shells are protection for turtles. They can be big shells or small shells. There are many types of turtles. Shells are nice to look at. The word reminds me of protection. I am in a shell of emotions that no one can break through. I wonder how many shells I’ve seen in my life. Probably many!!
shells, everybody encapsulates itself in a shell, it can be emtional, or physical, like hiding behind a hobby or an ideal, but at the end it’s what defines us… shells are what people see in the first place, but actually what counts is what the shell protects…
shells, everybody encapsulates itself in a shell, it can be emtional, or physical, like hiding behind a hobby or an ideal, but at the end it’s what defines us…
Some were gifts.
Some were souvenirs.
Some, I admit, were stolen from pricy gift shops,
Just plucked from their green doilies
And carried away
In the lint-lined pocket of my overalls.
And then there were those
That were discovered.
Real shells
In real sand
On a real beach
Beside the real ocean.
Those were my favorite
Untouched by polish or sanitizer
Raw and genuine and certainly not fake
Little treasures in platinum sand.
There was a variety
Little clams
Little corkscrews
Little conches
Little nameless shapes
They say if you bring one to your ear
You can hear the ocean
Whispering words of reassurance and love
I like to think
I hear myself from the future
Attempting to inform my past self
Of what awaits
But the the sky’s signal is poor
So I hear only hushed breaths
And mistaken waves.
The array of shells on the beach as she was walking was stunning. They spanned the globe in their diversity. She couldn’t figure out where they came from as they were not all indigenous to the area. However, she got her camera out and proceeded to document this bizarre occurrence….and the pictures would do nicely for her upcoming coffee table book.
Shells. Well, I always wanted to go to flordia, and get a lot of shells from the beach. make a necklace, or something creative loike that. I have always loved art work. Not drawing, cause i suck at drawing!
Shells, Shells-
everywhere
but not one to take home
All different
yet all the same
Something like humans.
Something like us-
you and I
We connect
we found each other
somehow
ended up in the same part
of the same world
and, my love
Its unbelievable.
and now that I met you
I can’t live without you..
Here we are
together
love once again
has taken over my life.
You have somehow managed you way into it also.
A strong exoskeleton,
unstoppable.
It only takes a minute to sift through the sand. But that’s where I dither, linger in the surf, drawing patterns sure to wash away. Still, every so often there’s a shell to be found. Under the letter, the hourglass, whatever, it’s probably more important if its found this way.
I kick the shells and a few of them crack, white shards scattering across the sand. So many and all alike too, why do people bother collecting them? Not worth my time, though at least I love their loud crunch beneath my feet. It makes me feel big, powerful.
Shells are immensely intriguing pieces of creation. You go to any beach and you would find shells of such variety in shape, size and color.
I love shells, they remind e of holidays. I wish I was on the beach right now. I’d like to decorate my future lounge in a nautical theme, with shells everywhere. I love shell jewelry, because it’s tropical, and excotic.
The tide just came in. What had been sure ground David was walking on vanished into a cloud of water and sand, and David tumbled. He rolled head over heels out to sea, like a small shell that used to have something inside of it.
The mortar shells were landing all around them: hard flat thuds following by shattering explosions.
“Sally sells sea shells on the sea shore.” I wonder if Sally grew up with these hopes and aspirations, if she did indeed wish to become a sea shell salesman or did she just fall into it because she had made no other plans? Was it just something she did to put food on the table and did it bring enough money to do so?
shells are often found on the beach, they are fun to look at and nice to see. This one time at the beach we walked for miles looking for the perfect shells. It was hard but we did it, we found the most gorgeous shells off the Jersey Shore that day. There were bright shells and dark shells and shiny shells and tiny shells.
The shells were small and sharp, and the beach seemed more full of them than sand. Barefoot wasn’t really an option here, for they would cover your feet in tiny cuts. But now and then, as you trudged along, you’d find a big piece or maybe even an unbroken one, white with purple swirls, and you’d feel really, really small.
And another day at the office. I come home daily feeling as though I have sat for long periods with my ear to sea shells. There is a hollow echoing, a distant booming reduced to faint waves of sound seems to surround me. These is an eerie absence of content of substance in the sounds. It is as if I have been dreaming all day, imagining, and in my imagination the faint impressions become more than illusion and I populate whole worlds for them. The sounds are ever receding but never go away.
Everyone has shells. I don’t mean the ones on your mantelpiece but the ones we wear to keep the world off our backs. The one called Questions I Will Not Answer, or the one called Things I Won’t Do.
The virulent colors on the shells swirled like tutti-fruity ice cream held against a backdrop of vivacious waves.
They are found at the beach. They are beautiful and of all shapes and they can be used as jewelleries. Tourists often buy them at artisanal shops, It is found in sand and in seas. It is used as decoration purposes.
Collections of stuff that you can find at beaches. Different animals and stuff make ‘houses’ out of them and naturally produce them. Other animals steal them. And people collect them to make pretty art.
I remember keeping shells and stones, that i thought were beautiful, in a little square formed basket.
but what do i even like about them
maybe it’s this process of searching and finding
or that their is just one shell like this
or maybe it’s to take something from outside inside,
like i liked to do with
the rabbit,
the chair,
the snails,
the plants,
the food,
but i don’t like them anymore
they’re too accepted as something beautiful already
i would feel cliché wearing them
shell necklace, shell earings
i don’t like shells anymore
did i ever like them that much?
i remember much more liking the trash at the beach
trashed clothes
bottles
shells..
She sells seashells buy the seashore. It’s really a silly thing to do, if you think about it. It wouldn’t be very profitable. This “she,” whoever she is, should collect her merchandise and head inland. Maybe make some jewelry out of it.
They are the crystals of the beach, they glisten and reflect the sun into the sky. They hold the sounds of the sea even if you take them far from the shore. Wear them, eat what came from within them. They are beautiful.
Shells are seen at the beach. Some animals use it as their home. Snails are examples of this. They make the beach beautiful. Tortoise also lives in a shell. They are shiny at times. They are sold at various outlets.
shells
seashells
she sells seashells by the seashore.
that has definitely got to be one of the hardest tongue twisters (for me) to pronounce.
i mean i can say ‘peter piper picked a peck of pickled peppers’ and ‘how much could would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck would’ pretty easily.
the beach is the most peaceful place on earth. one of the only places to see the expanse of the earth and world. it is home, and humbling . peace
Oh more shells? I imagined something very different in my head. I was thinking maybe tigers or some other word so I could make an amazing story of it. I want to make a great story but I cannot type as fast as others as I keep making mistakes and my speed is not as fast.
Shells are so beautiful, I like to walk along the beach at the ocean and see all the different shells that have washed up son shore here. I think of the little creatures that once inhabited these shells and think of their life among the tides. .
When I was a child I loved to collect seashells at the beach. I used to put the big ones against my ear on the drive home and pretend I was still at the seaside.
I’d close my eyes and listen, pretending the waves would come and take me away, away from a life that did not include the sea.
I used to dream of oceans filled with candy.
Candy shells.
All I could think of, was how the word shells had the word “hell” in the middle, surrounded two s’s.
Could it be that each shell on the beach contained a tiny hell?
On a beach, aren’t there asses everywhere?
Hell, I’m so deep.
Pistachio shells make great thimbles, Grandmaw says. I tell her to speak for herself – we don’t all got fingers the shape of crisply-sharpened number 2 pencils.
Scattered in her hair, were the remains of the men she had once loved. When another came along, her materialistic personality had given in and she had been forced to give up her lover, to make room for a new one. This happened over and over again, in a constant cycle of love and then love again. But she was also selfish – she couldn’t bear to part with them, so she turned them into shells and traced them along the edges of her ear.
As I wade in the water, the sun streaming down on the murky water, my foot brushes over something. My heart immediately leaps out of my chest, but thankfully, it was only a few shells.
I was walking a long the beach, it was windy , it was beautiful, it was perfect. The sun was just setting and the waves were pouring over my feet again and again. No running away from them, there was no need because they only brought me stillness and solitude. The shells beneath my feet gave a texture I could never forget. They reminded me of all of the obstacles I had faced in my life and how I got to be there on that beach on that day. The places I had been and the people I had seen. Each shell was a still frame of my life up until that point.
Shells, cracking, tinkling against each other in the mesh bag we carried empty to the shore and now carry, full, back. Together, we’re fucking always together, and we’re always two people, and we’re always apart. I once wrote in the sand, Maybe someday, and the same sand sinks our toes closer to the centre of the world, and the someday may have come, but you were drifting out to sea…
there are many different types of shells in the world, as teh discarded homes of the animals tehy be often found in the beach.
hands are shaking and the earth does quake
cell phone’s buzzing and the money makes
cold cocked words are forever phrased
when she rips cheating and your love is framed
in that picture on a beach; a phrased forgotten seas
stuffed sand in seashell echoes the moist debris.
Shells. The seashore, something about the way the ocean can be heard when you put one to your ear. Like it’s calling you. Telling you that freedoms this way. It’s so easy to get lost at sea. I hope it happens to me one day. Drifting out there, the sun beating down. Stumbling across an island paradise to make my home away from all the troubles of society.
I used to collect shells when I was a kid. Back when my parents were nice enough to give me and my two older sisters a ride to the local beach. We were poor, had one broken down car, and with two parents who both worked full time, we barely went out. I had so much fun those days at the beach though. I loved the different colors, smells, textures, and looks.
Macaroni shells are good for eating. Yummy cheese sauce or marinara. Shells at the beaches can be fun. Unless they’re all crushed up and sticking you in your feet! Shells are protection for turtles. They can be big shells or small shells. There are many types of turtles. Shells are nice to look at. The word reminds me of protection. I am in a shell of emotions that no one can break through. I wonder how many shells I’ve seen in my life. Probably many!!
shells, everybody encapsulates itself in a shell, it can be emtional, or physical, like hiding behind a hobby or an ideal, but at the end it’s what defines us… shells are what people see in the first place, but actually what counts is what the shell protects…
shells, everybody encapsulates itself in a shell, it can be emtional, or physical, like hiding behind a hobby or an ideal, but at the end it’s what defines us…
I have many.
Some were gifts.
Some were souvenirs.
Some, I admit, were stolen from pricy gift shops,
Just plucked from their green doilies
And carried away
In the lint-lined pocket of my overalls.
And then there were those
That were discovered.
Real shells
In real sand
On a real beach
Beside the real ocean.
Those were my favorite
Untouched by polish or sanitizer
Raw and genuine and certainly not fake
Little treasures in platinum sand.
There was a variety
Little clams
Little corkscrews
Little conches
Little nameless shapes
They say if you bring one to your ear
You can hear the ocean
Whispering words of reassurance and love
I like to think
I hear myself from the future
Attempting to inform my past self
Of what awaits
But the the sky’s signal is poor
So I hear only hushed breaths
And mistaken waves.
The array of shells on the beach as she was walking was stunning. They spanned the globe in their diversity. She couldn’t figure out where they came from as they were not all indigenous to the area. However, she got her camera out and proceeded to document this bizarre occurrence….and the pictures would do nicely for her upcoming coffee table book.
Shells. Well, I always wanted to go to flordia, and get a lot of shells from the beach. make a necklace, or something creative loike that. I have always loved art work. Not drawing, cause i suck at drawing!
Shells, Shells-
everywhere
but not one to take home
All different
yet all the same
Something like humans.
Something like us-
you and I
We connect
we found each other
somehow
ended up in the same part
of the same world
and, my love
Its unbelievable.
and now that I met you
I can’t live without you..
Here we are
together
love once again
has taken over my life.
You have somehow managed you way into it also.
A strong exoskeleton,
unstoppable.
It only takes a minute to sift through the sand. But that’s where I dither, linger in the surf, drawing patterns sure to wash away. Still, every so often there’s a shell to be found. Under the letter, the hourglass, whatever, it’s probably more important if its found this way.
I kick the shells and a few of them crack, white shards scattering across the sand. So many and all alike too, why do people bother collecting them? Not worth my time, though at least I love their loud crunch beneath my feet. It makes me feel big, powerful.