Here is a poem that I wrote last summer about one of my favorite beaches--Saikaew Beach on the island of Ko Samet in the Gulf of Thailand. Before I left for Ko Samet I was told by my friends in Thailand that the island was a dump compared to others that were further away from Bangkok.
Don't ever believe what people tell you. The island had the bluest water and the whitest, finest sand that I have ever experienced. Best of all, you could stay in a bungalow right on the beach for only about $10 a night (a bit more if you needed to have air conditioning and hot water...but who really needs that?) and eat fabulous Thai food right overlooking the water for only about $3 a meal. Now that is how to live, my partners in creativity!
Don't ever believe what people tell you. The island had the bluest water and the whitest, finest sand that I have ever experienced. Best of all, you could stay in a bungalow right on the beach for only about $10 a night (a bit more if you needed to have air conditioning and hot water...but who really needs that?) and eat fabulous Thai food right overlooking the water for only about $3 a meal. Now that is how to live, my partners in creativity!
One morning I woke up around 7am, as the sun was rising over the Gulf of Thailand, and was inspired to write this simple poem:
The beach is loveliest
at this time of day
when the lazy morning sun
has just begun
to peek her sleepy head
over the dew covered cliffs
of Ko Samet,
basking the beach
in her warm maternal glow.
Millions of tiny sea crabs
burrowing beneath the sand,
have begun to transform
the beach with their
fantastic sand art—
more beautiful,
I think,
than any work
by Michelangelo or Raphael.
The warm surf
crashes gently on my feet,
burying my toes in
powdery white sand,
and I watch on
as a naked child
and scraggly beach mongrel
splash joyfully
in the passing waves,
as oblivious to me
as they are
to each other.
A lone peddler woman
carries morning fare
of rice and fish
precariously on
long bamboo sticks,
her darkened, withered face
aged beyond its years
by her life spent
laboring in the sun.
She offers me
a bit of breakfast
but I wave her on
not wanting to
disturb the sanctity
of this moment.
The beach is loveliest
at this time of day,
when the golden sun
shimmers playfully
on the emerald waters
and the palms trees
dance rhythmically
in the morning breeze.
I breathe in deeply
and stretch my arms
towards the open sky
hoping to capture
the magic of
sun and sand and surf
in my minds eye,
But I know full well
that all the things
I love most
about the beach at sunrise
cannot remain
the way I cherish them
for very long.
And there is some sadness
in this realization
but profound wisdom as well.
The beach is loveliest
at this time of day,
when the garish many
are not yet awake
to disturb
nature’s subtle revelries
with their crude cacophony.
And because I know
this moment of bliss
is but a fleeting thing,
I have resolved
to treasure it
for just as long
as it may last,
and not to pine
so very much
when my
dainty morning sun
becomes transformed—
as she inevitably must—
into a gaudy spectacle
of former herself.
at this time of day
when the lazy morning sun
has just begun
to peek her sleepy head
over the dew covered cliffs
of Ko Samet,
basking the beach
in her warm maternal glow.
Millions of tiny sea crabs
burrowing beneath the sand,
have begun to transform
the beach with their
fantastic sand art—
more beautiful,
I think,
than any work
by Michelangelo or Raphael.
The warm surf
crashes gently on my feet,
burying my toes in
powdery white sand,
and I watch on
as a naked child
and scraggly beach mongrel
splash joyfully
in the passing waves,
as oblivious to me
as they are
to each other.
A lone peddler woman
carries morning fare
of rice and fish
precariously on
long bamboo sticks,
her darkened, withered face
aged beyond its years
by her life spent
laboring in the sun.
She offers me
a bit of breakfast
but I wave her on
not wanting to
disturb the sanctity
of this moment.
The beach is loveliest
at this time of day,
when the golden sun
shimmers playfully
on the emerald waters
and the palms trees
dance rhythmically
in the morning breeze.
I breathe in deeply
and stretch my arms
towards the open sky
hoping to capture
the magic of
sun and sand and surf
in my minds eye,
But I know full well
that all the things
I love most
about the beach at sunrise
cannot remain
the way I cherish them
for very long.
And there is some sadness
in this realization
but profound wisdom as well.
The beach is loveliest
at this time of day,
when the garish many
are not yet awake
to disturb
nature’s subtle revelries
with their crude cacophony.
And because I know
this moment of bliss
is but a fleeting thing,
I have resolved
to treasure it
for just as long
as it may last,
and not to pine
so very much
when my
dainty morning sun
becomes transformed—
as she inevitably must—
into a gaudy spectacle
of former herself.
