poeming on a tuesday...
these waves i ride
transplanted northern californian
that i am, with my blonde dreadlocks,
my valley girl affectations, i have never stood up
on a surfboard falling into the perfect wave,
have never been awestruck by the water
curling over my head, have never
hung ten, toes over the board
and yet i have surfed
this life all my
timing it just right
breathing in sync, paddling hard
catching some, missing others
duck diving under
changing crashing waves.
this beautiful world has amazed me
more than enough
and still i
to feel the ocean
under my feet, the board
waxed and steady, the waves high
the drop down thrilling,
the sun shining
as i surf
through every pore
of my electric
You might recognize that this photo isn't from my latest beach excursion to the Jersey shore. Nope, this is the Pacific. Bodega Bay, to be exact. As photographed in February of this year. Not exactly big surf, but bigger than the waves last weekend, which were gentle and sweet, with hardly a break at all.
You might also recognize that this is a shaped poem (and if you're reading it in an rss reader or on a phone/ pod/ tablet/ netbook it might not look right: it should look like waves). I don't write shaped poems very often, but this one seemed entirely appropriate.
I really have thought about learning to surf at some point in my life. I enjoy being in the waves (beyond the break) very much, swimming and floating. I know that experiencing the drop in and the tube (aka being in the curl) isn't likely to come without a lot of practice, but eventually, I think I'll be in a place where I can do that.
And if I am never in that place, no worries. I take my surfing metaphor very seriously: let it be what it is. I enjoy the water, I love my life. It isn't necessary for me to add a board (and get to bigger waves), where I am is just right. I just think it might be fun, eventually, to learn to surf on a board (I do body surf, a little).