As I stood looking out from the shore,
He pulled deep in the wave, with his oar.
The curtain of fog over the sea,
His presence slipping away from me.
The waves crash fiercely onto the rock,
Misty air hangs thick, life it does mock.
For what lies beyond beauty, are waves,
Strong, ripping, piercing water of graves.
This surfer must try to take his chance,
Ride the wave below, this is his dance.
The ocean currents, riptides and all,
For him bring meaning, the sea does call.
So out beyond the curtain of fog,
Sit upon his board in misty bog.
This surfer waits til the time is right,
Upon the board, surfer takes his fight.
Riding his wave, gliding to the shore,
To me he returned, to him, one more...
5 comments:
surfing looks wonderful, effortless, almost a flight on the water, but sadly, not for me. this is a young persons sport.
A really nice poem, I like the connection between the surfer, sea, fog and you.
loveNlight
Gabi
I loved this poem; it made me think of the beach near to where I live and the crashing waves against ancient rocks.
CJ xx
You have a nice feel for the different moods of the sea. This poem made me miss the ocean.
stunning piece.
well done!
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