Water has a way of slipping into my poetry—sometimes in gentle ripples, other times in waves that pull you under. In this post, I’m sharing three poems shaped by streams, tides, and shifting seasons. These poems drift between streams, shorelines, and open sea. Each holds a little piece of summer as well as the first breath of autumn. They are Born of Streams, Where Summer Ends, and Restless Waters. They’re about change, memory, and the way water always carries us somewhere new.
Born of Streams
I was born where the stream
broke through the moss.
Shaped by the currents,
I cannot stay still –
rushing forward
carving channels
in my skin.
I travel through stone,
with the cold rush of meltwater.
Polishing rough edges
and diving from great heights.
In the ocean’s embrace
I guard sunken treasures
then crash on the shore
of forgotten islands.
I am the rain
that cools your skin
in the summer heat.
But when you reach for me
I dissolve in silent mist.
This one is extra close to my heart because it was recently published in Poetic Reveries Magazine. It begins in the quiet of a spring and follows the water’s journey toward the ocean. Along the way, it becomes about movement and change, about carrying the things we’ve gathered along life’s path.
Where Summer Ends
Yet another summer
slips through my fingers,
carried off
by the foam of waves.
On the horizon,
autumn lingers —
storm-heavy winds brooding
over the bay.
But for now,
I bury my feet
in the pebbles
of my childhood's beach,
watching them ripple
circles in the water —
breaking the surface,
sinking beneath.
An end-of-season farewell—soft, bittersweet, and colored by the light of September evenings. The sea is still warm here. You can already feel the air turning. It’s like a gentle promise of the season ahead.
Restless Waters
The weight of restless waters
crashes on the dock.
It’s wood, withered by sunshine,
saltwater and harsh winds.
Still, the sound of small feet echoes –
running to find crabs on the rocks.
The scent of seaweed and driftwood smoke:
childhood’s innocence,
carried out by the waves.
Waves that never settle. A pull that’s equal parts longing and courage. This poem is about the type of tides, both real and emotional. They keep you moving, even when you want to stay anchored.
Water has always found its way into my writing. Maybe because it’s never still, always changing shape, just like us. And maybe because it holds our memories the way the sea holds its salt—part of it forever.
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