Some of these beach haiku were written by random trips to beach.
Most of these are part of a series based on afternoons spent at the beach on Hilton Head Island with my pad out ( a real paper note pad), hoping for words with my iPhone camera handy to add illustration to my thoughts.
I wanted to see if I would be ‘inspired’ by what I saw, by what I heard, by what I smelled, by what I tasted, what I felt emotionally and what I felt tactilely.
Some turned out okay.
Some were too forced.
Some were just bad.
Some did involve some or all of those feelings.
As far as it goes, I guess I was inspired by by what I saw, by what I heard, by what I smelled, by what I tasted, what I felt emotionally and what I felt tactilely.
Please aware that most of these haiku were NOT WRITTEN on the date in the title – for an explanation of this please see The Series link in the navigation table.
sea sunset give us keepsakes, pay us for prayers mountain clouds bronze skies
Sea sunsets, give us keepsakes Prairie gloamings, pay us for prayers Mountain clouds on bronze skies — Give us great memories Let us have summer roses Let us have tawny harvest haze in pumpkin time Let us have springtime faces to toil for and play for Let us have the fun of booming winds on long waters Give us dreamy blue twilights — of winter evenings — to wrap us in a coat of dreaminess Moonlight, come down — shine down, moonlight — meet every bird cry and every song calling to a hard old earth, a sweet young earth
Adapted from Good Morning America Part 21 as published in Complete Poems by Carl Sandburg (Harcourt, Brace and Company, New York, 1950).
stood in the doorway where the sun’s last rays faded in brilliant display
At Sunset
I stood in the doorway at evening, And I looked to the hills far away Where the sun’s last rays seemed to linger, Ere they faded in brilliant display.
Yes, lingered in beautiful splendor, And the scene was rare to behold, A pale blue sky was its back-ground, With stretches of pink and gold.
What wonder that Nature’s rare beauty So inspires the soul and thrills Our beings with tender emotions, As we look far away to the hills!
To the “hills” of which “David” has spoken, “From whence comes my help,” said he, And we have the same blest assurance, As we gaze on their majesty.
And we think of the Power who formed them, They seem like a tower of defence To protect and to ward off the evil Until we depart and go hence;
Where the sunlight fades not, but lingers, And to-night my waiting soul thrills As I stand in the doorway at sunset, As I look far away to the hills.
At Sunset by Olivia Ward Bush-Banks published in the book, Driftwood by Olivia Ward Bush-Banks, (Atlantic Printing Co., Providence, R.I., 1914).
According to Wikipedia: Olivia Ward Bush-Banks (née Olivia Ward; February 27, 1869 – April 8, 1944) was an American author, poet and journalist of African-American and Montaukett Native American heritage. Ward celebrated both of her heritages in her poetry and writing. She was a regular contributor to the Colored American magazine and wrote a column for the New Rochelle, New York publication, the Westchester Record-Courier.
The Banks established and ran the Bush-Banks School of Expression in Chicago, which became a place for black artists to gather and nurture their art. Actors and musicians gave recitals and performances at the school. Ward continued her artistic endeavors, focusing on drama. She also worked teaching drama in the Chicago public school system.
a grey mist sea’s face, must go down to the seas, call of the running tide
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by; And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking, And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
Sea-Fever By John Masefield.
This poem is forever in my mind remembered from the original Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory movie when everyone gets on board he Wonkatania and Gene Wilder gestures towards the ship and says, “And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;“
Then the boat goes through what has been considered to one of the most bizarre 3 minutes in movie history.
It has been written that, “ … you can see the abject terror plastered on the faces of children and adults alike in the scene. He didn’t tell any of the performers how Wilder would behave in character for that particular sequence, which led some of the younger actors, like Denise Nickerson (aka Violet Beauregarde), to believe Wilder was suffering a very sincere, very alarming psychotic breakdown.”
I feel like we are all about to start that boat ride.
Walking on the beach yesterday the clouds closed in to the south and you couldn’t see far down the beach or across the water to Tybee Island.
The horizon of the water and the horizon of the sky were together.
A light rain fell.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied.
The mist will clear and we will see the way through.
heard the sound of waves someone heard them years ago as will years from now
Driving to work in the dark again, I park and get out of the car for the short walk to the office.
It is quiet, very quiet, even the birds are silent in the pre-dawn.
There is just of a low rumble sound of the surf to remind me that I am standing about a half mile from the Atlantic Coast.
Doing the math and staying with the median of 2800 miles for the width of the United States, the distance between me and the ocean is 0.0178571429% of the median width of the country.
The tide is coming and will reach a peak around 8 a.m. and cycle through to the day’s 2nd high tide around 8 p.m. tonight.
Happens twice every day.
Has happened twice every day since all this started and will continue twice a day for as long as it us supposed to.
Someone years ago, decades ago, centuries ago, could have stood here and heard the waves and watched the tide come in and go out.
Someone years from now, decades from now, centuries from now, might stand here and hear the waves and watch the tide come in and go out.
As Mr. Lincoln said one the field at Gettysburg, “The world will little note nor long remember what we say here but it can never forget what they did here.”
I used to think that was pretty cool.
Back in the day when America dreamed big dreams for all people.
Back in the day when America stood up for dreaming big dreams for all people.
Back in the day when America was recognized for dreaming big dreams for all people.
Today?
Today, I am reminded of something else Mr. Lincoln.
“Fellow-citizens, we cannot escape history.
We of this Congress and this administration, will be remembered in spite of ourselves.
No personal significance, or insignificance, can spare one or another of us.
The fiery trial through which we pass, will light us down, in honor or dishonor, to the latest generation.“
Years from now, about all I count on is that the tide will come in and go out and someone might be here to see it and hear the waves.
Any marks we may have made will all be washed away.
No Haiku For You 