poetry, writing

Box Fish

Sweet little doot -doots swimming in the sea,

Wondering where they might be.

Floating about in turquoise waters,

Just like their mothers and fathers.

Staying just off the white sandy shore,

Knowing the gulf holds much more.

They’d swim to the reef if they could

But they’re happy playing in the driftwood

Taking a quick little dive for a snack

Then surfacing to spit the water back.

Yellow and small, dotted and square,

The little Box fish swim without a care.

Inspired by an encounter I had with two little box fish at a local beach a few years ago. They swam about and tried to even nibble on my arms in the warm gulf waters. Not sure how they got there, but they were fun to watch.

poetry, writing


What was full of life, drifting, lost to the sea,

Now lodges on white sandy shores.

Rocked by waves, bleached by sun,

hollowed by age and weather.

The heron perches,

watching the waters near,

a perfect place to spy

to find its next dinner.

The crabs and sealife make their home,

A breakwater to catch seashells forms.

A treasure trove of life can now be found.

poetry, writing


Sand falls from an outstretched hand.

Vibrantly white, soft as talcum powder.

Toes dig in seeking shade from the sun

On a sweltering hot day under pale blue skies.

A bead of sweat rolls down her neck,

only to be cooled by a warm breeze.

Waves lap onto the shore,

Washing thoughts and stress away.

Now she’s ready to live another day.

poetry, writing

Happy Place

Finding my happy place is never hard, but I just need time to get there, even if it is only in my mind. Anywhere in nature will do, the mountains, the beach, trails along a lake, a garden or some other beautiful place. Today I highlight one of my favorites, the beautiful white sand beaches on the West Coast of Florida.

The wooden bridge creaks under my sandaled feet.

Weathered and aged, I remember when it was new.

I step out of my sandals and onto the sand,

walking towards the turquoise waters.

Sea grasses and sea oats line the path of pure white,

as if it were a passageway to another world.

A gentle breeze lifts up dragonflies flying in the wind.

The air is salty on my lips, the sand is soft powder on my feet.

I dip my toes into the gently lapping waves.

It transports me to a place of calm; I finally start to breathe.

April 20, 2021~DRM~

Please visit my poetry page throughout the month for all of my poems for April: https://dawnreneewrites.com/?page_id=1378



Beach Mornings

I believe the best time to walk the beach is when a sliver of the moon shines brightly. The stars are twinkling remnants of the evening. The waves are crashing on the shore, blowing you a kiss and bringing peace you can only find from within.

Dawn breaks and the sky turns into pinks, blue and purple. The waves magically calm down, the rhythm slows as the sun approaches. Slowly one begins to see the shells scattered along the shore brought in overnight by the tide.

Birds dance along the waters edge looking for their breakfast.

The cafés scattered along the beach turn on their lights waiting for patrons.

Early-morning walkers stroll along the sand gathering their thoughts for the day. One must wonder if they do this every day or if they are on a break from their lives.

The breeze is cool as it hits my face. The sky is getting lighter. Along the shore are shells so beautiful waiting to be taken home by the next person walking by. The day begins.