by

poetry: follow me

you’ve been here before
i’ve seen you
hiding behind the stones
hands filled with shells
feet covered in sand
laughing with the wind
our shadows danced 
two merging into one
a forgotten fish
a billion bubbles blinking
small words made clear
you’ve been here before
i’ve seen you
stay

*24/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic. 

22 thoughts on “poetry: follow me”

  3. Hello Bridgette

    you always surprise me with the way you use words in the poetry you write, making the reader’s imagination wander. This one reminds me of a person sitting on a beach, remembering their childhood likened to a peter pan charater enjoying not only the fear but love of life.☺️ enjoy your weekend regards to all

    Terry 😊

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    • I’m on a women’s retreat and we’ve been very busy so not a lot of time to write, but yesterday, sitting by the fire these words just came. Like all at once. I don’t know if I fully understand them either, but they felt important.

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  9. This poem feels wonderfully dreamlike, as though it’s capturing the echo of a memory that’s just out of reach. I especially loved the repetition of “you’ve been here before, I’ve seen you”—it creates a sense of familiarity, longing, and déjà vu. Lines like “our shadows danced / two merging into one” and “a billion bubbles blinking” are especially vivid and linger in the mind. It leaves just enough unsaid for the reader to bring their own emotions into it. A beautiful, atmospheric piece, and I’m looking forward to seeing where the next poems in your 100-day journey lead.

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    • You are so kind! Thank you. This one flowed out almost entirely in tact, which doesn’t happen very often, and I’m glad it landed for you. I’m not sure even I understand fully what it’s saying, but it feels very dreamlike to me too.

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  10. The entire poem feels dreamlike. It is small, but leaves a huge dent.

    It unfolds on the threshold between memory and the present. Its power lies precisely in not pinning everything down. The images remain fluid, like the sea itself, allowing the reader to inhabit them rather than solve them.

    The refrain becomes all the more haunting because of the single word that closes the poem: stay.

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