Astral Shepherd

Rookie (1948 / Mass.)

Sandy Summer Days - Poem by Astral Shepherd

Summer always brought
its share of joy and woe
especially at the beach
on the sandy wet play shore
armed with a small shiny bucket
and plastic shovel
i would build edifices
the likes of which...., well
they were made of sand
but they held my dreams
most of the day would be
lost in rapt attention to
tiny details of window or tower
and some of the grains
would get in my eyes
then i would try to wash them
in the salty tide
only to make more tears and just
my pride was hurt as the grownups
watched me cry.


Lost in the delight of play
the castles would grow
with imagined knights and kings,
fiery dragons with massive wings,
gossamer gowned maidens fair
with golden flowing hair
not ever paying attention to
the world around me.


I ignored the rise of the tide
till it wrapped around my feet and toes…
a game at first to keep back
the trespassing flow of turbulence
as the surf puddled round the moat
and imaginary archers
fired back arrows through
the battlements until
the frantic breaking waves
rose so high as to dash
the dream, wave by wave,
till all that was left;
were my sorrows –


Gone are the carefree days
of apple face youth
lingering happily barefoot
and simple smiles beamed
at the warming sun;
visited now only in the remaining
twilight on a quiet porch or
in a simple reflective recollection.

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Comments about Sandy Summer Days by Astral Shepherd

  • (12/15/2005 4:54:00 PM)


    I enjoyed all four stanzas for different reasons. The first stanza captures youth from, i feel, a retrospective angle (they were made of sand but they held my dreams) which contrasts nicely with the second stanza that is definitely from a child's point of view(with imagined knights and kings, fiery dragons with massive wings): the rhymes affirming this perhaps. The third stanza links the second and fourth with its switch of tone from the youthful to the sorrowful. The fourth stanza begins with gone and it as if the falling of the sand castle results in the dissolution of youth so that all that remains are memories. I don't rly like appled faced youth but that is just a little thing. Good poem. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, December 15, 2005



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