A Shore Local
Are you looking for perfection?
If that is so
Steer in the right direction
If you live at the shore
You need nothing more
The beach that you choose
You simply won’t loose
As the tide goes up, then recedes down
You can relax there on the beachy ground
Hear & watch the seagulls play
And as you know at the end of the day…..
See you again tomorrow!
By Beth Haffert
You and Me,
Down the Shore
I love you
like sand loves salty wet feet.
I love you
like hermit crabs love bright shells.
Like beachgoers yearn
for that well-distributed tan….
Like waves
that never stop roaring …..
Like the elderly couple
holding hands along the pier….
I love you
in the brightest sunshine,
between bites of the coldest custard.
I’ll never tire of you
because how could anyone get used to heaven?
By Sarah Fertsch
Joy
I wake to sound of seagulls and I sleep
to breath of salt through an open window.
Who could have known that I would have so much
when I was little and dreamed of ocean?
The sea laps soft beneath the sun; its waves
glitter and crest and glitter and crest. Sand
shifts beneath my feet as I walk, its warmth
a balm I carry for the day ahead.
Embered western sky glows orange and pink
as I head for the bay—Oh, to see it!—
before dusk’s purple-gray undertones fade
finally into nighttime’s hushed darkness.
Life has been given me here in this place.
How can pain be when all I see is joy?
By Marya Small Parral
Wonderwheel Dreams
Old folk and kids dream of parallelogram
shadows cast by the sun’s rays past metal
railings onto gray boardwalk planks. It is
early summer: school has let out; snowbirds
returned from their tropical Southern climes.
On aqua and carrot coaster bikes they
glide along the boards with chrome-spoked wheels,
longing to glimpse freshly-planted dune grasses,
those green-golden sentries that protect their
isle from ocean floods. Zigzagging between
white parallel-line bike lanes, they spot the
solitary jetty angler clutch his surf rod
like a medieval knight with lance in hand.
They ride past scores of rectangular benches
coated with pastel hues, inscribed with plaques
bequeathed by aboriginals to honor lost loved ones;
past the chevron-shaped trail of the wary
red fox, bespeckling the sand with linear
tracks that disappear into dune dens ‘neath
beach plum shrubbery and cusped yuccas;
past cedar rail posts that guide beachgoers
through tall dunes to wet sand and saltwater;
past bikers’ oases: pyramidal pavilions providing
caesuras, shade, and cool ocean breezes.
Old folk and kids dream of parallelogram
shadows – Wonderwheels of geometric dreams.
—from Untethered Balloons
John Sweeder
