Accordion Player On The Beach

July 21, 2013 at 4:51 pm (Poetry) (, , , , , , , , , , )

Accordion player on the beach
The beach has a crowd
but no one listens
The music he plays is good
And has melody
but he plays to no one there.

No one stands in front or around him
like they do other buskers on the beach.
He plays the accordion like a master
But it seems this world no longer has a place for master accordionists.

He finishes his tune
and is greeted with the sounds of silence.
He puts away his accordion 
and heads home.
No one notices.
No one cares.

In the trenches of World War I
the soldiers listened to the accordion player
offering a sweet melody and hope 
amidst the rumble of big guns
and the sounds of Hell.

“Oh let every good fellow now join in a song,
viva le pompier
Viva la viva viva l’amour…”

Long live love
they sing in French
to the accompaniment of accordion.
Long live love
they sing against the background of war.

Here on the beach
is sand not mud.
Here they lie in the sun
instead of huddled down
in the rain.
Here they cling to their iPods
and not to their guns.
Here are the sound of waves pounding the shore
and not the sound of guns pounding human flesh.

To every thing there is a season
and a time for every purpose under Heaven.
The accordion was an instrument that brought melody and hope
to those trapped in the midst 
of a great and terrible war.

No one listened to the accordionist 
on the beach last night.
But at least they weren’t listening to the sound of guns.

Everything has its give and take.

The guns are silent.
The accordion is now silent.

And on the beach other buskers prosper.
The rapper who sings crap.
The crapper who can’t rap.

So still the white dove sails
wondering where to rest in the sand
and the voice of the turtle is yet to be heard in the land.

-A poem written by Christopher
Sunday July 21st 2013.

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A Tale of Two Tides

July 14, 2013 at 12:38 am (Poetry) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

In mid-afternoon a very very very low tide

the water is way out

the children’s water slide

is a water slide no more

but a slide on dry land.

 

 

Stirling Stork is down in the low-lying water

Stirling Stork who only makes his appearance

when it’s low-tide.

 

And rocks which can’t be seen at high tide are there

jutting out on the beach.

And there on the rocks sits Sidney Seagull

like a glass of fine malt whisky.

 

Evening and the tide is high

Blondie should be singing her song now.

 

 

High tide

the children’s water slide

is a water slide again.

 

 

Stirling Stork is nowhere to be seen

Stirling Stork who only makes his appearance

when it’s low-tide.

 

And the rocks are nowhere to be seen

but buried beneath the waves like Atlantis.

And Sidney Seagull is likewise gone

like a glass of fine malt whisky in W. C. Fields’ hand.

 

 

 

 

 

-A poem written by Christopher

 Saturday night

 July 13th 2013

 based on what he observed at 

 2 different times of day

 mid-afternoon and late evening

 at English Bay, Vancouver, British Columbia

 on this day.

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Children’s Joy On The Beach

July 13, 2013 at 1:29 am (Poetry) (, , , , , , , , , , , )

Once more it is the ending of another day

and the sun is again setting on English Bay.

A little girl splashes her feet in the waves

this moment in life- no doubt among her faves

her little brother kicks his feet in the sand

full of joy and fun and life playfully grand

They dance and sing and hold hands

among the sea water and shining sands

the sky above is a sparkling shade of blue

a promising sign of all things new

a seagull lands on the beach

just within the little girl’s reach

she runs up to say, “Hello.”

But gull says “I’ve gotta go”

and away he flies into the crimson gold sunset sky

not once turning around to say good-bye.

The girl waves so long to her shy new friend

and her dance in the waves soon begins again.

The children’s mother stands up and looks at her watch

for the sun has slipped below the horizon far more than a notch.

She goes to her children and motions them to come

they run to her and both of them hug their mom.

Yes, the sun has finally laid down and gone to sleep in the west

it’s time for them to go home and have their own time to rest.

 

 

 

-A poem written by Christopher

 Friday night July 12th 2013

 based on what he observed this evening

 at English Bay, Vancouver, British Columbia

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Hula Hoop Dancer On The Beach

July 10, 2013 at 1:01 am (Poetry) (, , , , , , , , , , , , )

Hula hoop girl dancing on the beach

her colourful summer floral skirt flirls 

around with the hoop.

The disc of the sun is setting

and the disc of the hoop goes faster and faster

around her hips

around her legs 

around her arms 

around her feet

a hula hoop dance impresario

dancing in the summer sun.

 

She dances with joy 

she dances with carefree abandon

she is a child of the sun

a child of the sky

a child of the sea

she dances with joy

she dances to be

she dances like one

in the dance of the free.

 

 

-A poem written by Christopher

 Tuesday night July 9th 2013

 based on what he observed this evening

 at English Bay, Vancouver, British Columbia

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