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 

eyes to
the waves,
timing it just right
breathing in sync, paddling hard 
catching some, missing others

duck diving under 
the roughest

the constantly
changing crashing waves.

this beautiful world has amazed me 
more than enough
and still 

just once
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


joy expanding
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).