Local Beach

The weekend comes and we drive to the beach.
We’ve been checking out a different one each time.
Our tote has water bottles, a book and towel each,
Plus a mesh bag for all the shells we might find.
We walk to the water, sometimes without shoes.
There is always a boardwalk and bridge on the way.
Scrub trees and tall grasses on the path that we choose,
The Gulf is before us. Now which way?

We don’t want to sit near too much of a crowd;
We want our own little space – our real estate spot.
That family and friends group is just too loud.
The breeze off the water keeps it from being too hot.
Let’s unfold the towels and set everything here.
Ready or not, here I come, oh Gulf waters dear!

I walk into your shallow and then move
through tiny crushed shells that make up your sand.
The sound of your waves is music I love.
I walk deeper and deeper, and my hand
floats on the top, like I’m caressing your skin.
You call me to walk out ’til I’m deep to my shoulders.
I wait for the next wave, then dive in.
This new rush of water is colder.

I watch for your next wave as I stand on tiptoe.
I’m ready to follow your lead toward the shore.
I hop just a little when you hit me, and we go
closer to the beach. This game I adore!
We play hopscotch until I must sit in the sun.
You drive me home to my towel. You are so much fun!

 

Writing201 Poetry: pleasure (topic), sonnet (poetic form), apostrophe (literary device)

 

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Waterfall Pool

The water flows from deep in the woods, rivulets into streams.

The water flows as streams, over rocks.

The water flows over rocks and

w a te r

c a sc a d e s

ov er

roc ks

a n d

down
rocks

and

down

down

into a

large deep pool
of icy cold water.
I wade slowly
from the edge
of the pool and
my toes are ice cubes
my legs are chilled
then my waist and
my chest and
the water is so cold
I dive under
quickly before
I change
my mind and
when I surface
I gasp for air
but none will come because
my lungs are frozen.

 

Writing201 Poetry: cold (topic), concrete poem (poetic form), anaphora/epistrophe (literary device)

Thai Iced Coffee

I remember that day – sunny skies and crisp air.
I walked with my jacket open.
The place was right across the street –
He said “Let’s go there.”

I looked down the list – I had no idea.
But Thai iced coffee – that could be good.
He didn’t know either, so he asked.
We took the recommendations and placed our orders.

The drinks came out first.
Mine – a clear glass, with this beautiful brown thickness
And swirls of white that moved slowly
Through the ice. I was enchanted!

I adjusted my straw and the swirls whirled
And skipped and floated and undulated and danced and
I pushed on the ice and the swirls twisted and curled and
Floated and spun and ever so slowly faded into brown.

I took a sip and thick cold gentle sat on my tongue
And then filled my mouth and burst.
So incredibly delicious!
(Sip it so the luxury will last.)

I wanted to drink it down, cool and creamy in my throat,
But I resisted the urge and showed restraint and
Exclaimed repeatedly on the
Flavor of this decadence.

Alas, the meal ended. The glass was empty.
But I could not let go – I wanted to take it with me.
No thought given to sugar or fat content – the reasons behind the
Glorious taste.

I stopped by on the way out of town but they were
Unprepared for an order to go. I ordered anyway
And sipped carefully as the too-large lid was
Taped to the wax cup.

The vessel could not contain the concoction.
It was wrong to try.
I think often and fondly as my tastebuds long
For the full flavor of the Thai iced coffee.

But perhaps the taste is not enough.
The drink requires the glass and the ice and the straw.
The creamy swirls are forever pictured in my mind
And bring longing to my tongue.

 

Writing201 Poetry: flavor (topic), elegy (poetic form), enumeratio (literary device)

Paradise at Bridgetown

imageI live in Paradise, it’s true.
I love this neighborhood.
Lakes, ponds, and palms and grass so green,
With dedicated woods.

Our neighborhood is bound by walls;
the front gate has a guard.
Pay H-O-A fees quarterly
and don’t work in the yard.

I live in Paradise, it’s true.
I love this neighborhood.
Lakes, ponds, and palms and grass so green,
With dedicated woods.

The snowbirds return in the Fall,
after Easter fly home.
We see the ones who live here now;
we’ll meet the ones who come.

I live in Paradise, it’s true.
I love this neighborhood.
Lakes, ponds, and palms and grass so green,
With dedicated woods.

Spa-like pool, in my neighborhood!
Spa-like pool, in my neighborhood!

We have a pool and work-out room;
they both are being rebuilt.
I don’t use them as oft I should.
For that, I carry guilt!

I live in Paradise, it’s true.
I love this neighborhood.
Lakes, ponds, and palms and grass so green,
With dedicated woods.

 

Writing201 Poetry: neighborhood (topic), ballad (poetic form), assonance (literary device)

Just for Fun – Found Poetry Attempts 1 and 2

1. The Path to Solitude – It’s Crooked.

Apathy In the midst.

Missed anniversary, Connecting,

I’m a new fan of… Solitude.

Lightness.

Peaceful.

Solitude.

Connecting.

In the midst.

2.

My Daddy Awaking…
That’s Bad! No, That’s Good…

I took some of my published blog post titles, keeping them in order of published date (though other titles may have been skipped) to form found poetry – book spine style, with punctuation added when necessary. One serious, one funny. Both surprised me! Neither address the topic of faces, and the first one uses chiasmus, slightly.

Writing201 Poetry: faces (topic), found poetry (poetic format), chiasmus (literary device)