She stood upon the shore watching every day for a sign. A sign that her husband was coming home. The ocean stretched for miles to the horizon, empty. Her heart ached to see him whole before her again. “Come home my Captain.” She would cry.
I’m at the beach with my ex-boyfriend. We were ex-boyfriends at the time that we were at the beach, and remembering this actually makes me wonder why I remember this time in particular. I’m from Florida so there are tons of occasion in which I was at the beach, why does this one stick out more than others?
there was a pebble that came to the shore. i like to walk along the shore in the beach with the sand in my feet. especially when the sand is warm it feels good and very relaxing.
shore I like the shore, but I dare not go…I have a fear of drowning also I don’t like the sand. But I do like the shore. I don’t know why why not not like it…Ok
distant scratches of black drift across the sky, riding the wild currents of air over the shore. circling around some school of what you and i would call small-fry fish. but we wouldn’t know, and our scientific names won’t help those gulls catch an honest day’s dinner – they don’t call out mackerel! or anchovy! or minnow! they just call out in high pitched voices, distorted by vocal chords we can’t understand, dinner!
When i walked to the shore back on the oregon coast i realized that you should know that it isn’t as pleasant as most beaches. Its cold, harsh, and bitter. But its my home. And thats what i’m from.
Go. The shore is not the place I want to be, but it’s the song I want to listen to the most, the melody I can’t remember. A metamorphosis of sorts, my eyelids forgot how to shut and my mouth has finally learned how to close.
I went to the shore for a vacation. I love the beach and the waves. TFinding eashells is a lot of fun for my family. The waves make going into the water much more exciting than swiming in a pool
the ocean is a combination of thoughts and experiences, not just water itself. the shore represents how far we can really see this spectacle without getting ourselves submerged in these events. the shore itself is just a limitation.
The beach was cloudy on this cold winter day, as the wet sand ground between my toes. I threw rocks into the waves and watched their miniscule splash in comparison to the crashing upon the shore. The beauty wasn’t lost on me.
The shore is such an interesting place. Between what has been and what might be. Lighthouses along the shore offer us a small view of that future, but the rest of it is lost at the horizon.
I peered at the horizon as our boat edged closer to shore–our seemingly endless and pointless journey had come to an end after all. Then we saw the fins protruding through the water’s surface, one, then two, then more.
its a place where you feel so small, but in a good way. I am always astounded by the beauty of the sea. It either makes me feel unbearably depressed or overwhelmingly happy. its perfect.
Where the sand meets the water. There’s nothing more relaxing than walking along the shoreline with the sand between your toes. Your footprints, embedded in the sand behind you. The water washes up and erases them. Just writing about this makes me feel so relaxed. I wish I was at the beach now.
The mailclad men leap over the hull of their longship once they reached the shores of that foreign mysterious land. The inhabitants knew not what disaster awaited them.
The shore is a place where you go to relax. To enjoy the ocean breeze, take in the sunshine and enjoy the wooshing sounds of the waves. I always think of going to the Seaside beach shore when I was little. Having campfires, s’mores and building sandcastles. The shore is a great place to go with friends and family.
A beach in winter. The sharp, cold air mixed with the salt-tang of the sea; disconsolate seabirds crying overhead; the flat, empty beach; and on the shoreline, a dead mermaid being eaten by the crabs.
Dad’s house. LBI. Southern County Ocean Hospital. Throwing myself in the bay. Salt water. Without the bonefide taffy. Caroline. House of Blues. Blacking out and coming to with a hot guy and her on the seashore before Dad came and picked us up. A million different denzions being guests at Dad’s house. Seagulls. Harvey Cedars. Salt, salt, lots of salt. Beach and sand on the sides of the road. That Indian shopping plaza that I cannot recall the name of because I am being timed doing this exercise. Tuckerton Lumber. That girl who looked so happy and then the following day looked so sad; Nick brushed it away; was I awry in my judgment or, rather, assessment. Uncle Bruce and Aunt Charlene. “Aunt Charlene got stuck in the mud.” The boat. Boat shoes. Uncle Gary. Us trying to pull practical jokes on Uncle Gary by sticking dead jelly fish under his couch cushions. We were such innocent kids. That rancid lagoon. Where the hell did it empty into anyway? And why the hell am I still typing when I thought this was a timed exercise? No, the point is to be “ad lib”, without restraint, upon the topic or the time. And I am completely and utterly changing the topic, as well as the entire point of the exercise. “Sure, Unsure.”- The deodorant. Or a pregnancy test of some sort. I’d rather just keep it as LBI, but then again, who am I to dig further into this exercise than I should. Alright, back to LBI. Beaches that are right there. Down every “Ocean Avenue.” The ice cream I don’t think I ever got to eat that one time because Michael yelled at me and Ben defended me. Michael could/was such an ass at some points. It wasn’t until he was older that he finally forgave (and should he have had to?!!!!, especially when I talked to him from the fucking Cardiac Unit and told him, almost or entirely guiltily or in an attempt at reconnaissance, that I could get him whatever food he wanted from the cafeteria. I used to love that. Making him plates of food that I could vicariously prepare (always washing the contaminated calories off my hands)…okay, distraction.
The shore is peaceful and tranquil, it really helps me relax and this is really strange
l;kda;’lkdsf’;asldkf’a;lskdf’ls;dkf’a;ksdf’;ksdf’;sldkf’;aslkfs;ldkf’;alskdf
Northern California with an old woman, drinking wine and eating apples off of the trees of her backyard. There was nothing but old sailboats and other drunk women. It was a lovely day in all honesty.
I sat on the shore of Newport Oregon glad to be away from everything and everyone back home. I reflected on all the losses I’d suffered and decided to forget about it and I really wished I could camp there on the shore and watch the water and forget even more of my life.
they met at the shore and had an amazing time, the sunset, the breeze, everything was perfect. They held hands as they chased waves and pronounced their love by writing their names in the sand surrounded by a heart
The shore was a place for me to comfort myself. The shore provided a shelter from my many insecurities and fears. After the death of my father, I felt I had no place to go, but visiting the shore gave me relief from my grieving. In troubling times, I would wander from my house and seek out the comfort of the shore.
The shore smells of brine. Tattered sea gull feathers are white and sand-crusted. A hermit crab scurries. A jelly fish occupies a wet indentation, waiting for the sun to dry it out.
shore lines remind me of beaches, the sand. the sea. the sun. walking along the shore at sunset, dreaming, laughing. the waves crashing against the shore. watching the sun as it falls below the hozion.
I took a walk on the shore of desperation. She had me by the ankles all the way to the log cabin. I was…well…I was without thought for a moment until she said “Hey, honey, let’s take a walk on the wild side.” I said, “Hey, darling, that’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had.”
If I had known what was going to be on the other side of the docks that night, I am certain I would have never gone. As it stood, some fifteen or sixteen bodies lay strewn about the shore, being licked gently by the tide as it came in, and I was the only one who had seen it.
The only thing standing between me and her was the pier and the guards standing thereon. I had three rounds left. and there were nine guards. EVen with my gunslinging, I could never hope to get there with heavy-handed gunfire. I had to think. I had to plan.
She stood upon the shore watching every day for a sign. A sign that her husband was coming home. The ocean stretched for miles to the horizon, empty. Her heart ached to see him whole before her again. “Come home my Captain.” She would cry.
I’m at the beach with my ex-boyfriend. We were ex-boyfriends at the time that we were at the beach, and remembering this actually makes me wonder why I remember this time in particular. I’m from Florida so there are tons of occasion in which I was at the beach, why does this one stick out more than others?
there was a pebble that came to the shore. i like to walk along the shore in the beach with the sand in my feet. especially when the sand is warm it feels good and very relaxing.
shore I like the shore, but I dare not go…I have a fear of drowning also I don’t like the sand. But I do like the shore. I don’t know why why not not like it…Ok
distant scratches of black drift across the sky, riding the wild currents of air over the shore. circling around some school of what you and i would call small-fry fish. but we wouldn’t know, and our scientific names won’t help those gulls catch an honest day’s dinner – they don’t call out mackerel! or anchovy! or minnow! they just call out in high pitched voices, distorted by vocal chords we can’t understand, dinner!
When i walked to the shore back on the oregon coast i realized that you should know that it isn’t as pleasant as most beaches. Its cold, harsh, and bitter. But its my home. And thats what i’m from.
I slept on the shore with her, wind blowing and sea breeze on our skin i can feel her love and she can feel mine.
Go. The shore is not the place I want to be, but it’s the song I want to listen to the most, the melody I can’t remember. A metamorphosis of sorts, my eyelids forgot how to shut and my mouth has finally learned how to close.
October 26th, 2010. 12:38am.
On the shore the world is a different place. Breezes encourage bad behavior and frankly, it is a freeing feeling, like there is no place on earth.
The shore off the coast of Florida was forever in his mind a calming refuge, the ocean waves nudging against him like the headbutts of his cat, Pearl.
I went to the shore for a vacation. I love the beach and the waves. TFinding eashells is a lot of fun for my family. The waves make going into the water much more exciting than swiming in a pool
the ocean is a combination of thoughts and experiences, not just water itself. the shore represents how far we can really see this spectacle without getting ourselves submerged in these events. the shore itself is just a limitation.
The beach was cloudy on this cold winter day, as the wet sand ground between my toes. I threw rocks into the waves and watched their miniscule splash in comparison to the crashing upon the shore. The beauty wasn’t lost on me.
The shore is such an interesting place. Between what has been and what might be. Lighthouses along the shore offer us a small view of that future, but the rest of it is lost at the horizon.
I peered at the horizon as our boat edged closer to shore–our seemingly endless and pointless journey had come to an end after all. Then we saw the fins protruding through the water’s surface, one, then two, then more.
its a place where you feel so small, but in a good way. I am always astounded by the beauty of the sea. It either makes me feel unbearably depressed or overwhelmingly happy. its perfect.
Where the sand meets the water. There’s nothing more relaxing than walking along the shoreline with the sand between your toes. Your footprints, embedded in the sand behind you. The water washes up and erases them. Just writing about this makes me feel so relaxed. I wish I was at the beach now.
The mailclad men leap over the hull of their longship once they reached the shores of that foreign mysterious land. The inhabitants knew not what disaster awaited them.
The shore is a place where you go to relax. To enjoy the ocean breeze, take in the sunshine and enjoy the wooshing sounds of the waves. I always think of going to the Seaside beach shore when I was little. Having campfires, s’mores and building sandcastles. The shore is a great place to go with friends and family.
A beach in winter. The sharp, cold air mixed with the salt-tang of the sea; disconsolate seabirds crying overhead; the flat, empty beach; and on the shoreline, a dead mermaid being eaten by the crabs.
Dad’s house. LBI. Southern County Ocean Hospital. Throwing myself in the bay. Salt water. Without the bonefide taffy. Caroline. House of Blues. Blacking out and coming to with a hot guy and her on the seashore before Dad came and picked us up. A million different denzions being guests at Dad’s house. Seagulls. Harvey Cedars. Salt, salt, lots of salt. Beach and sand on the sides of the road. That Indian shopping plaza that I cannot recall the name of because I am being timed doing this exercise. Tuckerton Lumber. That girl who looked so happy and then the following day looked so sad; Nick brushed it away; was I awry in my judgment or, rather, assessment. Uncle Bruce and Aunt Charlene. “Aunt Charlene got stuck in the mud.” The boat. Boat shoes. Uncle Gary. Us trying to pull practical jokes on Uncle Gary by sticking dead jelly fish under his couch cushions. We were such innocent kids. That rancid lagoon. Where the hell did it empty into anyway? And why the hell am I still typing when I thought this was a timed exercise? No, the point is to be “ad lib”, without restraint, upon the topic or the time. And I am completely and utterly changing the topic, as well as the entire point of the exercise. “Sure, Unsure.”- The deodorant. Or a pregnancy test of some sort. I’d rather just keep it as LBI, but then again, who am I to dig further into this exercise than I should. Alright, back to LBI. Beaches that are right there. Down every “Ocean Avenue.” The ice cream I don’t think I ever got to eat that one time because Michael yelled at me and Ben defended me. Michael could/was such an ass at some points. It wasn’t until he was older that he finally forgave (and should he have had to?!!!!, especially when I talked to him from the fucking Cardiac Unit and told him, almost or entirely guiltily or in an attempt at reconnaissance, that I could get him whatever food he wanted from the cafeteria. I used to love that. Making him plates of food that I could vicariously prepare (always washing the contaminated calories off my hands)…okay, distraction.
I drove down to the shore the other day just to fine that is was closer than I remembered. Could this be global warming or is my mind just going?
The shore sat gently between the quietly lapping emerald waves of the sea and the bustle of the city that lay behind. There was no GTL in sight.
The shore is peaceful and tranquil, it really helps me relax and this is really strange
l;kda;’lkdsf’;asldkf’a;lskdf’ls;dkf’a;ksdf’;ksdf’;sldkf’;aslkfs;ldkf’;alskdf
Northern California with an old woman, drinking wine and eating apples off of the trees of her backyard. There was nothing but old sailboats and other drunk women. It was a lovely day in all honesty.
I sat on the shore of Newport Oregon glad to be away from everything and everyone back home. I reflected on all the losses I’d suffered and decided to forget about it and I really wished I could camp there on the shore and watch the water and forget even more of my life.
Walking along the shore, I looked out to sea, marveling at how the sun’s gentle light brought every detail to attention, from algae to the seagulls.
An army of sea-people were taking their revenge that day. There was never a hope of survival as I lay there limp on the shore.
We walked along the shore as waves crashed on the beach. You could smell the coconut from suntan lotion and salty sea air.
they met at the shore and had an amazing time, the sunset, the breeze, everything was perfect. They held hands as they chased waves and pronounced their love by writing their names in the sand surrounded by a heart
The shore was a place for me to comfort myself. The shore provided a shelter from my many insecurities and fears. After the death of my father, I felt I had no place to go, but visiting the shore gave me relief from my grieving. In troubling times, I would wander from my house and seek out the comfort of the shore.
The shore smells of brine. Tattered sea gull feathers are white and sand-crusted. A hermit crab scurries. A jelly fish occupies a wet indentation, waiting for the sun to dry it out.
shore lines remind me of beaches, the sand. the sea. the sun. walking along the shore at sunset, dreaming, laughing. the waves crashing against the shore. watching the sun as it falls below the hozion.
A shore so far away that I can never ever reach it, but close enough to touch. A shore made of bones and blackness, a shore at the end of everything.
I took a walk on the shore of desperation. She had me by the ankles all the way to the log cabin. I was…well…I was without thought for a moment until she said “Hey, honey, let’s take a walk on the wild side.” I said, “Hey, darling, that’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had.”
i see sea shells by the sea shore. she sells sea shells by the sea shore. i once lived by the same
Sister Susie Sells Seashells on the Seashore
If I had known what was going to be on the other side of the docks that night, I am certain I would have never gone. As it stood, some fifteen or sixteen bodies lay strewn about the shore, being licked gently by the tide as it came in, and I was the only one who had seen it.
The only thing standing between me and her was the pier and the guards standing thereon. I had three rounds left. and there were nine guards. EVen with my gunslinging, I could never hope to get there with heavy-handed gunfire. I had to think. I had to plan.
The shore. Like a sunday night. A monday morning. A movie theater. An amusement park. Only a step away from the sun.