The Together! 2012 Pop-Up Poetry Club: “The Seashore”

The Together! 2012 Pop-Up Poetry Club offers a FREE weekly poetry workshop for Disabled people from 10:30am to 12noon on Wednesday mornings. We read, write, and talk about poetry over a cuppa.

There is a theme each week, chosen by Clubs Programme Leader Alison Marchant. We meet by Zoom.

Contact info@together2012.org.uk for more information and to join us.

Below are poems by the Together! 2012 Pop-Up Poetry Club on the theme of “The Seashore”.

Jay Joshi: Seashore

Seashore washed with creatures of all sizes and shapes and colours.
It was a thought to behold under the seashore, allowed scuba divers to
explore. There were wonderful glory, beauties that live and breathe in our
seashore. The glorious stories that are untold, and sound of the beating
hearts of the creatures that live and breathe under our seashores.

Dawn Barber: Seashore

As I walk along the seashore
The sun shining down on me
This is a beautiful place to be
There are not too many people
But when I walk by them they say Hello
And I smile and say Hello back
As I breathe in the fresh air
As I look out to the sea
This is such a special place
I want to be.

This is not the Endo: There is a place

There is a place that I adore
A place that stays forever more
No matter where it come afore
It’s chained to my very core
There is a place for wanderers galore
For sailors, fishermen to come ashore
A place that holds old dinosaurs
And turned the tides in world wars
It’s a place where no one keeps score
The smells better than the bookstore
A place you always want next door
Even when it swells and roars
It’s a place for impromptu dance floor
And eating too many smores
A place entrenched in folklore
The place to be is of course the seashore.

Eve Smith: Seashore and the sand

I get out of the car and I travelled from my home to the sea it had been a while since we went
The music was quite loud from the car or a reasonable sound so we could all relax our heads
As you look closely you wonder what is on the floor
And you realise it is some shells
And they come in lots of different shapes and sizes small and big
You can take a collection of them or just one of them for memories as a memory for a special day
Then you might want to have an ice cream at the sea shore
There are all different flavors to choose from which one should I choose?
I go back to the sea shore with my ice cream and sit down on a bench and
Kind of relax as I don’t want the birds to eat my ice cream, that’s for sure.

Dwain Bryan: The Seashore 1

As I sit back in my caravan I dream of the seashore
And my plan is to get there
As family and friends are around
The plan is we head off and continue to walk to the seashore
It’s not that far away and maybe fifteen minutes walk
As I tread on those little pebbles and stones
My family and friends around with me
Our view is now water birds and seaweed
And the burning summer sun
We take our seats just beside the beach
And settle down
The children seem to be having more fun than I am
Being young again is what I envy
I decide to take a dip at the seashore
And decide to pull my trousers up knee deep
And take a walk by the seashore
My feet feel seaweed, soft and slimy and uncomfortable
So I decide to walk back to the shore
And take the relaxing option
Kids know how to have fun.

Robert Punton: The seashore 1

Walking on the seashore, the sea on one side, the coastal town on the other
The smell of the sea, off the sea filling my nostrils
With the senses of the sea, making me dream of seafaring adventures
As the aromas from the fish and chip shops up and down the seafront
Attack me I suddenly feel very hungry,
I suddenly feel nostalgic for my childhood family holidays
Memories of family breaks in northeastern Scottish coastal towns
Fill my head, come rushing into my imagination
Like phantoms from my past, for so long locked away,
Now suddenly and immediately set free to run amok
Figure long forgotten spring back to life,
Incidents lost to time, spring back to mind, as if they happened only yesterday
Suddenly I am transported to a past time, a forgotten place
I have no idea how long I spend there,
But then snap I am back in the here and now.

Zillah Bosworth Coleman: Take My Photo

It’s a long way off right now.
Those golden shores of Takapuna, Santorini, Golden Bay and Taghazout.
When Granny Bobbie, as a child,
jumped from black rock into the shallow waters of Thorn’s Bay;
the everlasting sound of laughter and beach clutter,
footsteps coming down the sand from the steep steps, passing by the house.
Then me, enveloped in the pink canvas seventies sunchair, years on cracked paving,
with the sound of the basement washing machine overlooking the
agapanthus beds,
the laughter of bathing below
Then, after Jenny, the nineteen-year-old cat.
“Fish, fish, Jenny, fish.”
We stepped down to the beach with sun hats, buckets and spades,
the next generation and the generation after that.
If the tide pulled tightly, I would clutch the volcanic rock in panic.
All the while, Rangitoto sat dormant and watchful, our own volcano against
the Turquoise.
Years later, my arms stretched out in a green bikini against the Santorini sky,
emerging from the water on another volcanic sand
“Please take my photo, please!”
I was standing in a silver Ralph Lauren dress,
overlooking the sunset at Oia amongst the crowd.
Please take my photo.
An adult, an adult now, fading fast,
desperate to capture the last rays of the setting sun as it collapsed into the
skyline.
Slowly, oh slowly, walking in the morning sun along Taghazout Beach,
stretching from horizon to horizon, with empty cafés and gap-year surfing
clubs.
Capture me before I return, so I keep these moments that will be lost forever.
One last walk along the sand at Golden Bay.
No chronology required.
How had I found myself there? A sandcastle competition, most elaborate.
The happy mum who picked me up hitchhiking along the road.
“This is paradise,” she said.
I came home to find paradise: two kids in the back, togs,
a messy old car, a beautiful view from the remote, and a friendly town.
I’m only passing through.
It’s a long way from here.
Far from the shores I said before.
My river, my sea.
Some days the Thames laps against the bank just like Thornes Bay,
Santorini, Taghazout or Golden Bay.
Take my photo.
Capture me.

Huma Butt: Sea Shells

Sea and the Sea Shells.
Sea and the Sea. Sea and
The Shells. Shells in the distance.
Seeing is the Sea. Take Shells and Shells.
All will be the Shells.
Shells and Shells what a delight.
Shells and Shells to take.
Take and take will be the Shells.
Takes you to the Sea and back.
Shells and Shells take your pick.
Pick and pick till the end.
End of getting to the Sea and sand.
End of letting the Seashells go.
Go to the Seaside. Then for the Seashells.
Seashells and Seashells.
Let the Sea have it all.
All and the Sand. All for
the Seashells. All to get
to the Sea. Sea and Seashells.
Sand brings more.  Seashells brings more.
Bring you to the Sea. Bring
plenty of the Seashells, when you go
Come back. Take you to there.
All Bringing back Seashells or two.
Seashells one and two, three.
Then another. You will not go
empty handed. Sand and Seashells.
Sand and sand. Sand allows
the Seashells to come. Take
your pick. All for the sea and sand.
All to find the Seashells.