A seashell lies embedded upon the shore, curling inside itself. It cuts into my foot as I stumble upon it, its sharp coil slicing through the leathery skin of my sole. The pain tantalizes, quickening my heartbeat, grinding my teeth, rattling my spine. The sand bristles into my open wound as I walk on; it is a different kind of pain than the seashell’s, one more familiar and less enticing. I swallow hard and ignore it.
I can see him in the distance, a silhouette hazed into the dull blue of the dying sky. The hushed rumble of the waves expands into my ears, louder and louder, as I walk toward him, closer and closer.
At last I stand beside him. He does not look at me. I smile at him but he does nothing. I touch his shoulder but he does nothing. I lean into him but he does nothing. He is nothing. Or am I nothing?
I murmur his name into the bone of his shoulder, and his neck tilts, almost imperceptibly. He still feels it. I know it. Denial can only imprison the desire so long.
The sea’s briny breath slaps against us in gusts, slapping my face, slapping his. I retreat it from it slightly, but he does not move. His eyes are open--unafraid. His spine is stiff--unrelenting. He endures so much, for too long. An unnecessary duration of self-inflicted punishment.
My arms wrap around him in a possessive embrace. Selfish. But I have some right to this. Often he rails against my touch. Yet when he thrusts himself forward to escape, he inevitably falls back into me, limp and exhausted, closer than he was before. He stiffens somewhat within me, yet he also melts. It is as though a battle rages beneath his stony features, an elemental war between control and submission, between education and instinct. Regardless, he never pulls away fr...
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...den burst of self-awareness.
Now I feel him behind me, his breath brushing against my neck like a razor, his mouth a graceful pounce upon my skin. His hands roam. His voice is brittle as he murmurs my name again and again, like a chant. The sight of the seashore blanches and blurs. Now I see nothing in the glass but the reflection of myself and him behind me, his arms around my chest, his head resting against mine. A faint image, distorted yet appealing. As though we are two creatures melded into one. Inseparable.
Now I submit to him, like he first submitted to me. An array of sensations tumbles onto me, overtaking me. Time slips through my fingers like water into the earth, irretrievable.
There is still comfort in nights of doubt. Even if all this deserts me one day, I shall always have the memory of him, of this pain and of this love. Of the seashell.
Carlton, a 6-year-old boy, was playing on a sandy beach with his mother. He began to run along the shoreline when he stepped on the sharp edge of a shell, giving himself a deep cut on his foot. His mother washed his foot in the lake and put on his running shoe to take him home. One day later, Carlton’s foot looked worse. The gash was red and painful. The foot was warm to touch and appeared swollen. Carlton’s mom put some gauze over the wound and prepared to take him to the local community health clinic.
The author shows the reader the sea just as the sailor does as death, but more than death
Do you remember the first time we met? I do as I cannot shake the memory. It was love at first sight. I’ll never forget the feeling I had. A warmth overcame my body as you stoked a fire in my heart. It was like I had spent my life drowning in the sea around me and you were that breath of fresh air as I pulled myself out. My cares and concerns melted away. I was complete. You were exactly what I had been missing in my life. My better half you completed me you made me whole. Your touch, your scent, your glistening radiance I took it all in. I felt its force enter my body working its way to the very center of my soul. It felt like a real living breathing thing coalescing within my life force touching parts of me I never knew existed. You awakened some innate primal desire and I needed you at all times.
His heart began to beat faster as Daisy's white face came up to his own. He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning-fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips' touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete.
In the vestibules of coercion, the incursion is in part the agent responsible. What he may do, do distil of life and instil of passion? He is: in no guard of life, and dart of accessions of force? The vitality is in more wish to gist the pre-consciousness being of subtle aggression to annihilate a wreath of breath? More profoundly his own is un-profound of breath and its keenness. He labours to guess on it. This scuttle of benchmark, he out-marks condescending lines on the churner of trial and being supple of vile, but in stasis of sense he is a letter of trump. Like a trump maiden, the trump card lays secure in lap until forgery is cleansed of tenor or vigilance is the heath of mind. To sag in the hence muster of what
...a and her response to it at the beginning of the fifth stanza. The speaker being “followed” by the sea shows its hunt after her. Repeating the pronoun “He” alerts us to her continuing terror after she escapes the immediate site of the vulnerability. The sexualized motions of the sea follows the speaker’s that signal a transformation from the sexual aggressor to just a responsive partner from the sea’s part. When the speaker’s sexual urges and energies awakened or started, they outstrip those of the previous aggressive sea and exceed them in enjoinment. The repetition of “he” serves to discriminate the speaker’s state of arousal from the sea. When the speaker defines herself in terms “ankle” and “shoes,” she domesticates limits the irresistible sea with only these two phrases “his Silver Heel” and “ Pearl” because she restricts the sea to rise higher that her ankle.
i do not like hugging people, so we do this instead. It means he loves me”. Through the simple sentences used in the first person narration, the intricate nature of human communication is expressed whereby the limitations of Christopher’s condition inevitably forge a barrier between him and the outside world.... ... middle of paper ...
“I had been born into a raging ocean where I swam relentlessly, flailing my arms in hope of rescue, of reaching a shoreline I never sighted. Never solid ground beneath me, never a resting place. I had lived with only the desperate hope to stay afloat; that and nothing more. But when at last I wrote my first words in the page, I felt an island rising beneath my feet like the back of a whale”.
In this poem, the author tells of a lost love. In order to convey his overwhelming feelings, Heaney tries to describe his emotions through something familiar to everyone. He uses the sea as a metaphor for love, and is able to carry this metaphor throughout the poem. The metaphor is constructed of both obvious and connotative diction, which connect the sea and the emotions of love.
The foamy wavelets curled up to her white feet and coiled like serpents about her ankles. She walked out. The water was chill but she walked on. The water was deep, but she lifted her white body and reached out with a long, sweeping stroke. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.
There is a lot of sensual imagery in this poem. Mainly we hear and see
This boy, dead at nineteen, that he both loves and despises… he is a shard of bone embedded in his eye. The pain is nearly unbearable, and it is permanent. But it is his pain. That shard of bone is his bone. It is a part of him, and it always will be. The bone obstructs his vision now, and he can never extract it. But he can learn to see alongside it, to accept it for what it is. Eventually it will lessen to a dull throb, but it shall never cease. He will always feel it, remember it.
This poem has captured a moment in time of a dynamic, tentative, and uncomfortable relationship as it is evolving. The author, having shared her thoughts, concerns, and opinion of the other party's unchanging definition of the relationship, must surely have gone on to somehow reconcile the situation to her own satisfaction. She relishes the work entailed in changing either of them, perhaps.
Fear has taken a hold of every man aboard this ship, as it should; our luck is as far gone as the winds that led us off course. For nights and days gusts beyond measure have forced us south, yet our vessel beauty, Le Serpent, stays afloat. The souls aboard her, lay at the mercy of this ruthless sea. Chaotic weather has turned the crew from noble seamen searching for glory and riches, to whimpering children. To stay sane I keep the holy trinity close to my heart and the lady on my mind. Desperation comes and goes from the men’s eyes, while the black, blistering clouds fasten above us, as endless as the ocean itself. The sea rocks our wood hull back and forth but has yet to flip her. The rocking forces our bodies to cling to any sturdy or available hinge, nook or rope, anything a man can grasp with a sea soaked hand. The impacts make every step a danger. We all have taken on a ghoulish complexion; the absence of sunlight led the weak souls aboard to fight sleep until sick. Some of us pray for the sun to rise but thunder constantly deafens our cries as it crackles above the mast. We have been out to sea for fifty-five days and we have been in this forsaken storm for the last seventeen.
The grass was soft and green, reserved for those who wanted to lie down or sit. A sweet aroma of flowers overflowed near by like s shinning light, but was hidden by the untrimmed bushes and wildly growing trees. Up above me was the beautiful, high noon blue sky spotted with fluffy, white clouds and airplanes flying by. I emerged into the parking lot and stopped happily as a squirrel under a tree. Hesitating to proceed anywhere further I took a few minutes to treasure the moment of silence and peace. As my girlfriend and I got out of the car to get ready for the picnic, she happened to be distracted by the water; a rhythmic ongoing resemblance of rhythm in her heart. The water was clam and beautiful in every aspect. To me she was like a wave, never stooping to catch attention or go unnoticed. Before doing anything else, we began setting up the picnic. By the time we ware done, her temptation was unbearable and was finally unable to overcome it, consequently she eagerly ran towards the water pulling me right behind her. Each step was like an imprint in my heart, a fossil that would always remain the same and special inside me forever.