the ocean (a poem riff)

the ocean (a poem riff)

male tourist walking along empty beach and admiring view on ocean

wading along the shore
looking for shells
not sure what I might find
or what I am looking for

in sand the footsteps stretch
soft sandy trail
tracing my path
so others may know

my passage fades
within the writhing tide
memories erased
within the compass of time

and the moment-

I will turn
into those waves
to be swallowed
from whence I came

we are all vulnerable. we all have our weaknesses…

we are all vulnerable. we all have our weaknesses…

beach blur clouds dawn
Photo by Pixabay on

the beach is my refuge
my retreat
to see infinite hope and the inevitable end
where else to expect
all things converged a beginning and an end
for I might seem strong
to those looking in
but inside
broken pieces strewn about this shore
I wish for a united front
but humpty has more hands than I
from king’s men or passer’s by
I can not even remember the sight
from up upon the wall
I wish to be whole some time once again
but I am used to this, broken

notes… eventually we all just become atoms for reformation of other living things. this was written 1.2 of this new year, I am commenting on perspective and many other things, I think most are obvious so I am not going to explain this one to death (of course the temptation is there, it is my nature)

music (as I love to share my thoughts on)…

The Jelly Jam – Nature’s Girl

another leftover (dig in, won’t ya?)…

another leftover (dig in, won’t ya?)…

close up of food in plate
Photo by Tranmautritam on

um, leftovers, I should really post all things at once but sometimes things get lost, I have my journals to be sure, but man my handwriting is pure… garbage  🙂  so this is one I forgot to post from my visit to the place in new jersey I love almost… the most, Cape May


Upon Cape May Wildlife Refuge, Cape May NJ 10.12.2018

I sit here, with my friend willow brush

your tufts so soft to the touch

sea lake pond hdr
Photo by Skitterphoto on

designed to be stroked by the wind

bending as she sways to swing

how long have you waited

for just the right breeze

to release your young

and ease into deathly reprieve

to see where I actually wrote this (literally on a beach in a storm) check out this vid, I was in a tidal area (marsh) where the ocean meets um… the marsh… very unique ecosystem, unfortunately I had to clean up about 17 beer cans/bottles thrown into the brush… that pisses me off, I am not some rabid environmentalist (I am just a classic nature lover), and hell, if I was a kid living near there I would probably party on the beach too, but man alive, how hard is it to clean up after your damn self…


beach haiku…

beach haiku…

beach bench boardwalk clouds
Photo by Pixabay on

I don’t always write haiku, but when I do it is is, well, haiku silly… I generally like to not have form but sometimes I like it, so what the hell… I was sitting on the beach, listening to the surf, and these words, and syllables occurred (because I do always think of her, wherever she is, I think of her).

entrance to the beach
the thousands of footprints down
none of them are yours

alone on the bench
ocean breeze washes over
do you think of me

streetlights long shadows
strangers walk, conversations
I am here alone

stars shine down as fixed
couples on bicycles pass
am I being judged

take a picture of
my very shadow being
I leave nothing here

music… one of my fave bands and albums….

Minus the Bear – Michio’s Death Drive

if that don’t get your gaggle giggin… well, I give up

Shore planes.

Shore planes.

aircraft airplane book miniature
Photo by Porapak Apichodilok on

I was driving down the GSP tonight (as I am wont to do), and just noticing something, something that seems very Jersey to me, shore planes… now what the hell are shore planes might you ask… and surely I might have an answer, going back as far as I can remember (not that it is that long in celestial time) these biplanes (well I imagined they were biplanes they certainly sounded like it), well, anyway, these planes would drag these huge banners back and forth across the beach sky like “Eat at Joes” and similar jargon, no websites because this was pre-internet (somehow we grew up without it), but anyway those planes, another one of those very specific things that is dug in there into my Jersey DNA, I remember the sound, to look up from my castle building or crab hunting, such a distinct memory linked to a sound and a time, and the sand…

the following is something I wrote and posted on Facebook a while ago, it is Very Jersey specific, but I liked it anyway, but with today I kind of regret not shoehorning  in the planes… how on earth did I forget the planes? ?!  I guess inspiration was incomplete that day, I suppose I could rewrite it, but, that does not seem to be my way….

the squeaky swings
of phillip’s beach
rusty chains
green burning seats

sunlight sneaks
through the gaps
white-wood shower stalls
smoothed with age
from water’s fall

the yellow striped awning
the wide-wood steps to the gate
hardly hold
the little wild ones at bay

neon buckets mold towers
little hands fashion moats
the unrelenting tide
sweeps away all that is built

names in the sand
spirals and feet
all disappear
in the surf
even the sand crabs
diving head first

driving home, exhausted
a day in the sun
a day on the ocean
a nap in the car

back safe at home
the night drift to sleep
still riding up and down
the waves of phillip’s beach