SUMMER, LATE
Across the long horizon flow the tan dunes,
Sprinkled heavily with tall grasses waving at the green amongst them,
shimmering golden as the sun bleaches out.
Dry wind blows steadily, from the south, missing dips
behind which lie children giggling
in their hiding place.
Hot sand. Toes dig deep to reach the soothing cool.
Sand, blown in a riveted stream down the dunes,
whispers promises too low to hear,
lulling nonetheless.
Prickly grass stickers surprise feet bottoms;
sweet wild strawberries are worth the risk.
Lying against dunes, the warm sand heats backs and arms,
legs settled in an under layer, topped with shifting sand.
The wind continuously runs grains down the dunes
etching a form. Imprint begins to dissolve as soon as it is free,
edges smoothing, winding down as faded bottle glass
tossed by the salty sea.
Learn more about this author, Suzette Bogrand.
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A Trip To The Seashore
Lets grab the buckets & the spades
Get the swimsuits, towels too,
We're heading for the sea-side
Just
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Young and old, poor and rich
Cyan waters blue enriched
And twilight's sun eldritch gold
Folding waves and
SUMMER, LATE
Across the long horizon flow the tan dunes,
Sprinkled heavily with tall grasses waving at the green amongst them,
shimmering
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innocence and excess
enveloped salty grit
wandering eyes and oily sheens
too much flesh in too little fabric
lie above yesterdays
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When I was six my grandmother
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Poetry: The beach
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