Our senses are heightened by the surrounding wonder of the sea and shore. Take in the sound of every rolling wave. Inhale the salt air. Fix your eyes on a bit of sea glass. Feel the sand beneath your feet. It’s time for a little PhotoPlay and Prompt.
A special thanks to everyone who engaged in last week’s poetry prompt. Here’s a poem from Laura, full of riches:
the sea takes back the
stones I carry, buffets
them into gleaming gems,
shining like glass beneath
light-faceted water.
I become the earthen shelf,
shifting against woolen
waves wrapping around me,
my body curving like a crescent
with each lapping pull
the night breaks open
like a piece of fruit, wet
and sweet on the tongue,
scent of brine under
milky moon
and the minstrel sea peels
back untold riches; sings in
me a new topography,
lifts away the heavy stones,
returns his hand to mine.
PhotoPlay Prompt: Take a picture showcasing the detail of a shell (or shells), sand, or sea glass. Try your hand at the macro setting on your camera.
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NOTE TO POETS: Looking for your Monday poetry prompt? On Photo Play weeks, it’s right here. Find inspiration from the photo in the post and respond with a poem. Leave your poem in the comment box. We’ll be reading. 
Photo by Alison Pavlos. Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Heather Eure.
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Sometimes we feature your poems in Every Day Poems, with your permission of course. Thanks for writing with us!
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Janel Andrews says
My first offering
http://viepourcettetemp.wordpress.com/2014/07/14/poetryplay-portrait-of-a-shell-sand-and-the-sea/
Laura Brown says
Love it. Especially “crystallized bliss.”
michelle ortega says
and those free pedicures…ahhh. 🙂
Elizabeth W. Marshall says
Janelle, this is so lovely. I am smiling big that you are here. Welcome. Please return again and again. You are a gift, friend.
Maureen Doallas says
Lovely musical lines in Laura’s poem of release.
Richard Maxson says
I did not have a photo of a beach with footprints! Can you believe it, living in Florida? So here is one I found http://www.pinterest.com/pin/323274079475751039/
Undertow
A picture of a beach,
with footprints
of someone no longer there,
but you were there, of course
only you know this, you
and the one who walked away,
a stranger who caught your eye,
who returned your stare
and paused, waiting for you
to smile or wave.
In that moment, you felt the thin arc
of the ocean’s ebb
circling your feet, still and sinking,
and you knew you could follow the stranger
to a place unknown,
but you stood and stared and wondered,
as you do now, where only footprints
remain, whenever dreaming brings you here.
Elizabeth W. Marshall says
Richard, this has a tone of haunting beauty, mystery and longing. Beautiful. Your poetry draws me in, everybtime. And I want to linger or run. Or pause or return. You fill your poetry with a myriad of emotion. Thank you.
Maureen Doallas says
Coastal Sighting
The fog lifts
its back from
the coal-gray
sea. Long-finned
pilot whales, flippers
sickle-shaped
like a slice of moon,
spyhop, lobtail, breach,
an echolating chorus
line, clicking, closing into
a circle of preyers.
michelle ortega says
“a circle of preyers” conjures a memory of a circle of “pray-ers” who were not necessarily benign or loving. Great!
Maureen Doallas says
Yes, that’s a deliberate line. Pilot whales’ behavior is to surround their prey, which includes squid and octopus.
Thank you, Michelle!
Richard Maxson says
Maureen, I like the way this short poem builds from the title (deceptively benign), through the marvelous first sentence to its conclusion. The words you use seem to warn us there may not be a scrapbook photo coming. Very effective!
Maureen Doallas says
Thank you so much, Richard.
Elizabeth W. Marshall says
Love the line breaks, they reveal and set a mood. “the fog lifts it’s back…”. Wow. Would love a poetry prompt on fog. Your imagery is sliced and placed masterfully. Maximizing each brief, yet powerful line.
SimplyDarlene says
i don’t live
by the sea anymore – not
even by a trickling stream. this
undoes me every
summer. my webbed
feet dry out and i beg a
trip to the mountain lake – there are no
shells, only mowed weeds, bits
of concrete steps, slimy with green. i
step in duck
poop and swim with a turtle to
a floating dock. my son
and i cannonball the day
away. back
on our towels, he
spreads his stone loot
out: shapes of horses, dragons. i chug
lukewarm water
from a mason jar, flick an ant
off my toe, dream of cowboy
hats made of ice.
michelle ortega says
Where (and when) did you live by the sea? And did you still wear cowgirl boots?
Maureen Doallas says
Darlene, the image of “cowboy hats made of ice” is wonderful. You set a lovely scene of a day with your son, fully realized in your details.
SimplyDarlene says
after college we lived between portland, oregon and astoria, oregon (in the highland boonies) … one hour inland. and even though i was born wearing boots, i opted for bare feet in the sand when at the beach. 🙂
SimplyDarlene says
i would be remiss not to add that i spent my growing up years 1/2 mile from water… swimming was had every.single.day of summer. hence the webbing. 😉
Richard Maxson says
Captivating description, Darlene, webbed feet and all!
michelle ortega says
I used this photo paired with my poem from last week, one of my all time favorite that i have captured. “rose and shell”
http://www.curlygirlslp.blogspot.com/2014/07/shells.html
Maureen Doallas says
Wonderful image, Michelle.
Richard Maxson says
Lovely photo and poem.
Rosanne Osborne says
Particularity
What does the sand remember
of where it’s been? The sights
it’s seen and sounds heard?
It feels the pulsating waves
of a thousand seas, the thrashing
and gnashing warping its being.
It knows what it cannot say
of Solomon’s wisdom
and inscrutable sagacity.
It lives beyond the boundaries
that set our lives, limit
our vision, curtail our impulses.
Sand has paid its price to be holy
one in diversity, yet profoundly
united in the ground of being.
Richard Maxson says
Wow, Rosanne! Loved that closing, nicely set up too.
Marcy Terwilliger says
My rock collection is full and plenty,
They came from States from coast to coast.
The ones from Maui,
I love the most.
Black, round, with holes a plenty,
Bought back in a bag, there were many.
From a skull to another sliced into,
Glass rocks all colors too.
White and smooth to the touch,
Others black and gray some with specks.
All have stories from where they came,
Walked wet sand beach shores,
Left footprints of my soul.
Shore to shore and state to state,
Even the great Salt Lake.
Richard Maxson says
I love this part of Laura’s featured poem:
“the night breaks open
like a piece of fruit, wet
and sweet on the tongue,
scent of brine under
milky moon”
Maureen Doallas says
Sensual.
Marcy Terwilliger says
The Death of a Heart
By; Marcy Terwilliger
I am a broken seashell,
Washed up from the floor of the ocean.
I lie here bleeding on the cool,
Wet, summer sand.
There was a time when I was whole, Beautiful, shinny like moonbeams.
Not anymore.
My shell is broken,
So many pieces, I can’t find them all.
People, walk all over me, crush me,
Even further as they step upon my frail heart.
Look, can’t you see me?
I still need you, my heart is broken,
Can’t you feel my pain?
Look what I’m going through,
Hey, do you even care?
Time, don’t talk to me about time.
Right now I need something,
For the pain.
Parts of me are gone,
Broken forever.
Washed out to sea,
That dark bottomless pit.
I’m never going to get them back.
They are gone forever.
Washed away in the cool,
Wetness of the sand.
What I need?
Someone to make me whole again.
Is anyone there?
All that’s left now,
Is my heart, over there,
Half buried in the cool, wet, sand.
Elizabeth W. Marshall says
My offering, photograph and poem are here.
http://www.wynnegraceappears.com/2014/07/18/The-Bibliography
Looking forward to slowly savoring all of yours.
S. Etole says
The sea is only a dream for me …
https://www.flickr.com/photos/45405642@N08/