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End Of The Day.

Distant clouds stack
among majestic sailing ships
riding each feather bed edge.
Schooners, a ketch, slip slowly
back and forth  to hazy horizons.
Tide fades far beyond sandy arms
of mothers gone to fetch
wading children, who leave smooth
pathways carved among tributary creeks.
Gulls swoop to violate weaker shells,
sun reflects among  mirage
of glittering jewels,freakishly cast
below milk white surface of emptying pools.
Deep in the heart of dark caves
trapped waves lap.Aborted echoes
slap sea weed coated stones.
Flecks of foam fill abandoned footprints,
searching among deck shoes,
wandering away towards
heat saturated hotels.

3 Jun 06

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Another good descriptive poem.  I can smell the ocean now.
 — violet

Nice job. I wish i was at the beach... you captured every sense that involves the beach. I like L 10.
 — Delicatelie

Dear Violet

I must get my Impressionistic period out of my system.Is the sea really like wot i described?I must confess I've never been there but am, in this poem, deeply influenced by a sea side painting by Claude Monet that hangs on our bedroom wall.

Larry sweep with a brush Lark
 — unknown

Dear Delicatelie

You are to kind to an old fool who soends his days dreaming of the briney.

Larry paddling pool Lark
 — larrylark