a place for me
by Thomas Courtney

winds buffeting sea rocks
covered with a sea of white birds
like a powder, waves
lunging against the land
straining away the earth into silt
narrow trails twisting around stout brush
dropping precipitously into the hollows
winding down from the land's cover
to where the waters have bitten off the face
cries from above the haunting gulls
tiny scattering, clustering, scuttling sea crabs
and the world of tide pools below
the sun withdraws the blanket of night
from across the far horizon toward the shoreline
bringing with it colors to the colorless
the cliffs stand high above an unnamed stretch
of beach where the playgrounds
are less hospitable to man
less convenient and unmarked
by our penchant to organize and build
and knowing this i come to this place
take the extra effort to be alone
take the extra thought to be together
with myself
i come here in the morning
when the air is still and within minutes
everything around me has changed

Black Sand Beach
by Mara Herscovitch

Your licorice waves
Lap at the edge of unclaimed civilizations
An undiscovered sun
Burns a hole through volcanic rocks
As lovers stroll over the hulls
Of Atlantean ships that bear
Witness to Greek Idols
A sun-drenched idyll
On a remote epiphany of sand and wonder.

from the ocean, to the moon
by Heather Dearmon

i am salty and urgent.
you are white and precise,
drawing my many couriers
in a terrible need.

i continue to recover
from the sands,
pulling back, then onwards
once again -full force
to meet my desire.

o brave face, your hard smile
multiplies and drowns across
my back, to the mouths of fish.
my dark flesh swells and flows.

i tumble after you, madly.

Sea Fever
John Masefield

I must go down to the sea 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 gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray 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;
All I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the seagulls 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 a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

Neither Out Far Nor in Deep
By Robert Frost

The people along the sand
All turn and look one way.
They turn their back on the land
They look at the sea all day.

As long as it takes to pass
A ship keeps raising its hull;
The wetter ground like glass
Reflects a standing gull

The land may vary more;
But wherever the truth may be--
The water comes ashore,
And the people look at the sea

They cannot look out far.
They cannot look in deep.
But when was that ever a bar
To any watch they keep?