“Look at her. She’s such a beach.”
“Oh, shore.”
“And her, she’s such a bank.”
“Yeah, littorally.”
“You can see entire coastland!”
“No wonder she’s still shingle.”
The shore seemed so far, but it was there. By god it was there. I tried to make my limbs move faster, ignore the salt burning my eyes and the back of my throat, the unimaginable depths below me. I was almost there. I am GOING to make it.
I’d like to wash up on a shore. Someplace overrun with tourists. They’d see me in the sand, pale and shiny and covered in seaweed and think I’m asleep. Or an exotic fish.
We went down to the shore to talk. The sounds of the surf coming in and receding always made us feel relaxed. Since the conversation was going to be heavy, we needed the calm to keep us from erupting at each other.
This word reminds me of a short story I write about a day at the beach. One of my mother’s friends read it and commented that it was very sensuous. I guess even at a young age living through my sense was so very important to me. And I was more sensuous than I ever would have known.
I waded,
Strung, floating,
on the surface of the ocean,
at the mercy of the waves length…
to the rhythm of its mood.
In the distance,
a texture appeared above the
aquatic desert.
Hope, solidified.
A promise.
Shore.
i once took you to the sea-shore, remember?
we went on a walk and the ocean licked our feet
hand-in-hand we ran in to the open sea
our hair was wet and mangled, and your
skin was made of sea salt, but your
mouth tasted like sweet strawberry ice cream
Sometimes when the sky turns red she walks down to the shore. If she squints, she can see the purple that the blue sea makes at the horizon when it meets with the clouds above. The shells are always sharper on red days. She swears that everything is harder, that everything is tinted rouge, like the layer of blood was on top on the skin instead of under, but her friends don’t understand. “It’s blue,” they say, like it’s easy. “If you just remember the sky is blue, maybe you won’t have to go down to the shore so much.
But she can see the is red in their eyes.
the lighthouse flashed it’s brilliance in quick moving slow circles. Many a night I followed th
a false terl
all I think of when I see this word is the sae shore =)
ian
I look for glass,
Faded and worn
Blunt and beautiful.
The water itself looks as if
There is a bed of blue and green
Smoothed into stones.
I add to my pockets
Little tokens of
One man’s trash
Eyes in the sand finding
The tiniest shards.
When I first walked to the water
The sound felt like
I had dropped my burden from my back
Suddenly I was breathing—
And now pulling myself away
I try to hold on to it
Trying to cup waves in my palm
And hold them there as long as time allows;
No time at all.
Salt water running away on my skin;
Maybe I do always carry
A little ocean with me.
How to hold the wall against an endless tide, an immeasurable force, a crushing infinity?
Do not resist. Let it flow over you. What other option do you have?
Jesse B
Beach. Clear blue water with white sand going through your toes. Warmth from the sun shining down as the water glistens. Coastlines for miles to ease the stress away from your daily life. Peace. Just the sounds of the waves breaking just in front of you while you immerse yourself in your thoughts.
Tara
It rims the massive expanse…that leads nowhere but also everywhere. The boundaries are defining that are not colored outside… the sand skates across the landscape to intertwine in the dark abyss while the crumbs of the ocean mix.
I remember how I felt. I felt calm and collected, but also I felt alone. But not in the sense that it bothered me. I felt alone in the way, that no one will ever fit with me like some kind of puzzle piece. And its not that I feel I’m missing something romantic in that way either. But I tend to hang onto relationships and friendships that almost fit it, but probably never will. We are vast small universes expanding within ourselves, and we wonder what the hell is going on with us half the time. I remember I was in New Zealand. I had walked for hours, to just get away. I found myself near the water, right along the shore. And I started laughing. I could not stop from grinning stupidly, because I met with myself as I seem to always, right there at the ends of dry land. And I think, it’s always been you, you silly girl.
blackmail yourself while your on the shore
walking your dog
to be nothing but a writer
a writer of your own life story,
an endeavors hog.
Theres only a centrifuge of
old news, autobiography,
and new news, your biography,
create a tale taller than your own standards and desire
and watch, free smoke, wander
the air,
and all of your empire.
the shore may blow towards the alaskian huskies direction,
but, there, stands, a man,
who’s heart controls the sea breeze from ever entering
in on the dog’s heart.
Just because the sea breeze didn’t blow his way,
the man stuck a shovel into the sand castle that a child worked
harder than iron to create.
“Look at her. She’s such a beach.”
“Oh, shore.”
“And her, she’s such a bank.”
“Yeah, littorally.”
“You can see entire coastland!”
“No wonder she’s still shingle.”
The shore seemed so far, but it was there. By god it was there. I tried to make my limbs move faster, ignore the salt burning my eyes and the back of my throat, the unimaginable depths below me. I was almost there. I am GOING to make it.
Minnesota nice is
the sun glowing low over
the still surface
of the lake outside
that old fashioned dinner club on
the other side of town
I’d like to wash up on a shore. Someplace overrun with tourists. They’d see me in the sand, pale and shiny and covered in seaweed and think I’m asleep. Or an exotic fish.
We went down to the shore to talk. The sounds of the surf coming in and receding always made us feel relaxed. Since the conversation was going to be heavy, we needed the calm to keep us from erupting at each other.
This word reminds me of a short story I write about a day at the beach. One of my mother’s friends read it and commented that it was very sensuous. I guess even at a young age living through my sense was so very important to me. And I was more sensuous than I ever would have known.
I waded,
Strung, floating,
on the surface of the ocean,
at the mercy of the waves length…
to the rhythm of its mood.
In the distance,
a texture appeared above the
aquatic desert.
Hope, solidified.
A promise.
Shore.
i once took you to the sea-shore, remember?
we went on a walk and the ocean licked our feet
hand-in-hand we ran in to the open sea
our hair was wet and mangled, and your
skin was made of sea salt, but your
mouth tasted like sweet strawberry ice cream
Sometimes when the sky turns red she walks down to the shore. If she squints, she can see the purple that the blue sea makes at the horizon when it meets with the clouds above. The shells are always sharper on red days. She swears that everything is harder, that everything is tinted rouge, like the layer of blood was on top on the skin instead of under, but her friends don’t understand. “It’s blue,” they say, like it’s easy. “If you just remember the sky is blue, maybe you won’t have to go down to the shore so much.
But she can see the is red in their eyes.
the lighthouse flashed it’s brilliance in quick moving slow circles. Many a night I followed th
all I think of when I see this word is the sae shore =)
I look for glass,
Faded and worn
Blunt and beautiful.
The water itself looks as if
There is a bed of blue and green
Smoothed into stones.
I add to my pockets
Little tokens of
One man’s trash
Eyes in the sand finding
The tiniest shards.
When I first walked to the water
The sound felt like
I had dropped my burden from my back
Suddenly I was breathing—
And now pulling myself away
I try to hold on to it
Trying to cup waves in my palm
And hold them there as long as time allows;
No time at all.
Salt water running away on my skin;
Maybe I do always carry
A little ocean with me.
How to hold the wall against an endless tide, an immeasurable force, a crushing infinity?
Do not resist. Let it flow over you. What other option do you have?
Beach. Clear blue water with white sand going through your toes. Warmth from the sun shining down as the water glistens. Coastlines for miles to ease the stress away from your daily life. Peace. Just the sounds of the waves breaking just in front of you while you immerse yourself in your thoughts.
It rims the massive expanse…that leads nowhere but also everywhere. The boundaries are defining that are not colored outside… the sand skates across the landscape to intertwine in the dark abyss while the crumbs of the ocean mix.
I remember how I felt. I felt calm and collected, but also I felt alone. But not in the sense that it bothered me. I felt alone in the way, that no one will ever fit with me like some kind of puzzle piece. And its not that I feel I’m missing something romantic in that way either. But I tend to hang onto relationships and friendships that almost fit it, but probably never will. We are vast small universes expanding within ourselves, and we wonder what the hell is going on with us half the time. I remember I was in New Zealand. I had walked for hours, to just get away. I found myself near the water, right along the shore. And I started laughing. I could not stop from grinning stupidly, because I met with myself as I seem to always, right there at the ends of dry land. And I think, it’s always been you, you silly girl.
To put some fundation piles or similar to suport something
Go,
Verb. This morning was sluggish. After getting up to get some coffee after 2 hours of unproductivity at work, it kicked in.
I became a go-getter. I took care of some tasks and felt like I was making today worthwhile. But now it’s lunch. I don’t want coffee.
But I want to get up and get GOing!
blackmail yourself while your on the shore
walking your dog
to be nothing but a writer
a writer of your own life story,
an endeavors hog.
Theres only a centrifuge of
old news, autobiography,
and new news, your biography,
create a tale taller than your own standards and desire
and watch, free smoke, wander
the air,
and all of your empire.
the shore may blow towards the alaskian huskies direction,
but, there, stands, a man,
who’s heart controls the sea breeze from ever entering
in on the dog’s heart.
Just because the sea breeze didn’t blow his way,
the man stuck a shovel into the sand castle that a child worked
harder than iron to create.