Ocean Drive

Posted on 8 Comments

Ocean Drive

By Shawn R. Jones


After hours of walking

by green hedge hidden mansions


and collecting seashells

with sun-burnt-brown hands,


we fell asleep

twisted in each other’s arms


with Hampton-clean sand

on our feet.


I woke up first,

admiring the four bedpost steeples


as I listened to sprinklers

rattle and spit


across an already

dew-damp lawn,


reminding me of things I love,

but do not need to live,


like our cedar shingle brown home

destroyedย by Sandy.

8 Responses

  1. Such a sunny bright image. So hopeful. I miss sea shells, we don’t seem to get them on the beaches near where I live. I can’t wait for summer, to “listen to sprinklers,” lawn mowers, cicadas, and fall into that entwined sleep. Love it.

  2. I shared this with my girl overseas ๐Ÿ˜€ She’s in the Philipine slum on a mission trip. I don’t know if she’ll even get it; nevertheless, your poem struck me so much I had to share it with her. It’s like a slice of hope for when she returns. Thanks again Shawn.

  3. Connie says:

    Just lovely! I love the surprising, but understated turn at the end. It gives the beauty described earlier in poem such added meaning and depth, with three little words.

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