Poetic Waves Novels & Stories

Jeremy pov: As I sat on the sandy beach, with my toes buried deep in the warm sand, I listened to the rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the shore. It was a picturesque sight, with the moon casting a soft glow on the tranquil waters. The gentle breeze carried with it a salty scent, and I felt my muscles slowly relaxing as I breathed in the fresh sea air. The sound of the waves was so peaceful that I closed my eyes, allowing to fully immerse myself in the calming atmosphere. As I did so, I could feel the cool water gently lapping at my feet, and I savored the sensation of the water on my skin.

KEIRA The waves rolled in, their steady rhythm a soothing melody that spoke to my soul. I stood at the edge of the beach, my toes sinking into the warm sand, and let my gaze wander across the vast expanse of the ocean. The sun, a radiant orb of golden light, painted the sky with hues of pink and orange as it descended towards the horizon. It was a sight of breathtaking beauty, a moment that filled my heart with awe and wonder.

Today, likewise, yet the waves are choppy, the surface like a mirror turned half liquid, breaking and flowing all at once. The waves break around the rocks in the shallows, their foam crests becoming chaotic lace over the blue. Jazz watches it swirl, mesmerized, as if the movement of the water choreographs her thoughts. The waves come like a coiffured fifties hair do, over pronounced in the arch and impossible to avert the gaze from. They roll as the ocean does, bringing the music of the beach, the percussion section roaring from the stoney bed below yet softened by the water.

Desperation drove me toward higher ground, clinging to the faint hope of rescue. However, luck wasn’t on my side. Out of nowhere, a massive wave slammed into me, sweeping me off my feet. I crashed into the sea, the icy water flooding my mouth and throat with its salty sting, leaving me gasping for breath. “Don’t freak out. Just stay calm...” I repeated to myself, clawing for control. I tried to swim away from the jagged rocks, but my belly slammed into one, its sharp edge slicing through me like a knife.

[Erin] The fire dances in a massive blaze, swaying just as the warm wind blows around us. Its soft crackles resonated, transcending the tranquil sound of waves lapping up against the shore. The moon hovers in the night sky, reflecting its soft glow into the water, making it look so ethereal.

Chapter 10 Kayla’s POV The soft brush of paint in the canvas caught my attention in contrast to what the art is showing, the strong waves painted with softness but it was anything but. Waves met the shore beautifully along with the golden sunset. It was almost the same that night however waves weren’t soft and the sky was in total darkness. Waves of strong current can crash your body to the point of paralysis. The golden scenery only last for a moment before the darkness meet the ocean and together you create a beautiful danger.

There were days I seriously questioned if life was even worth it. One night, after he'd gone off on me again, I stumbled outside—bruised, numb, just drifting. I watched cars rush by and wondered if it'd even hurt to get hit. I wandered around till I ended up outside the community center. There was a kids' art exhibit going on. One canvas stopped me cold—ocean-blue brush lettering that said, [Ride the waves. Keep going.] The letters looked like actual waves, curling and crashing, speckled with white dots like sea foam.

Dante said. "Everything we've built has visible edges," Elian said. "The house, the garden, the foundation. But the thing the fourth novel is about — the conversation — doesn't have edges. It's just — ongoing. Continuous. The way the Atlantic is continuous." He paused. "How do you write the ocean?" "You write the specific wave," Dante said. Elian looked at him. "The specific wave," he repeated. "The ocean is too large to write," Dante said. "But a specific wave — the one that arrives at a specific moment on a specific morning — that you can write. And the specific wave contains the whole ocean."

" Emily writhed and blushed again. Why couldn't she have seen that herself? Any goose could have seen it. "Sail onward, ships--white wings, sail on, Till past the horizon's purple bar You drift from sight.--In flush of dawn Sail on, and 'neath the evening star-- Trash--trash--and yet there's a picture in it-- Lap softly, purple waves. I dream, And dreams are sweet--I'll wake no more-- Ah, but you'll have to wake if you want to accomplish anything. Girl, you've used purple twice in the same poem.

The waves crash onto the summer beach and spread out across the wet sand. Foam and bits of rocks and broken shells are left behind as the wave retreats back to the sea. Then again, it crashes. And then retreats. Back and forth. A repetitive movement. Yet somewhat soothing to look at.