Sandy Treasures

Broken shell in the sand

Sandy treasures are
tossed by storms
like living toys.
They spin and turn
only to land on sand
beside digging boys,
frisbee-catching dogs,
diving gulls, awash in
endless white noise.
A swish of cold, and
they spin and turn,
riding waves like cowboys,
plunging and bucking.
Until the tide turns its back.
High and dry. A girl enjoys
shingling her castle with them.
Beachcombers collect them as if
shells are ridged with joys.
Perhaps their sandy silence
is a doorway to remembering
the shore’s soul-healing noise.

Copyright 2016 Brenda Davis Harsham

Notes: The heat hasn’t left New England, and I haven’t stopped daydreaming about the beach. Any fellow beachcombers in the crowd? I have a cup of shells and feathers by my sink to remind me to swim, fly and hunt for treasure. Happy Poetry Friday and thanks to this week’s host, Catherine, a talented teacher and poet, at Reading to the Core.

43 thoughts on “Sandy Treasures

  1. I like your fresh take on “noise.” We don’t usually think of it as “soul-healing” but it’s all about the associations, isn’t it? I live next door to a Montessori school so I hear kids squealing and carousing a lot, which could be more “soul-healing noise.”

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    • At first, it’s overwhelming, but in the end, my soul is healed by the wind-buffeting and noise. I am washed up on the sand, and happy to be there. Wow, living next door to a Montessori school must get you up and ready for the day early!

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  2. Beach combing treasures are the best! I, too, enjoyed the action of those shells riding the waves and I love that you keep a cup of feathers and shells by your sink. They are clearly doing their job to inspire you!

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  3. Autumn? What autumn? The heat is still hanging around Florida too. Feels like nearly 100 out there today! But at least the mornings are slight cooler—there is hope. My favorite part of this poem, Brenda, is when you describe the shells as “riding waves like cowboys,/plunging and bucking.” My favorite kind of rodeo. 🙂

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  4. Yes, I’m still daydreaming about my early summer beach time, Brenda, wish it was only a skip over the mountains. I like that you took me back, and reminded about those “living toys”.

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