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Thread: Surfing (Without a Net)

  1. #1
    Inexplicably Undiscovered
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    Surfing (Without a Net)

    (From circa 2008)


    Surfing
    (Without a Net)


    A ninety-seven pound weakling —
    that’s this starving brain,
    cowering from the biggest
    bully on the beach.

    But on a surf-slapping strand
    every mollusk is a word
    and every little scalloped shell
    has a meaning all its own.

    A half clam held to one’s tin ear
    might whisper the difference
    between a meringue and a merengue
    and tell how the “Unfinished Symphony”
    (or is it “Swan Lake?”)
    begins as a beguine plays
    with the tides of the Sound.

    A fluttering gull might fluster me
    when it perches atop a pier
    to squawk the throaty name of Bach-augk
    with its scaly toes bopping out a beat.

    And when the pods of humpbacks break
    into trilling vibes, should one try
    to hook the melody
    or just lean back and let them wail?

    Then a school of mariners —
    ancient and modern —
    could pull in their lines of lore,
    lift a shandy or a flagon or three
    all the while chanting shanties

    about the numbers dancers do
    and the mystical dances of numbers,
    one by one breaking all
    Thermodynamic Laws as well
    as the rules of punctuation
    in the Periodic Table.
    They won’t shut up, these salts,
    shaking out semicolons and semiotics
    of the every-shifting semaphores of the sea—

    leaving one puny soul, less than a buck
    soaking wet, with a body requiring rest
    and an arrhythmic mind in motion
    which keeps losing its place
    and failing to thrive
    yet waves it all through

    the tsunami of facts,
    the floods of theories,
    the flotsam and the jetsam
    (and then some):
    treasures unspooled
    on an unspoiled speech.

    Come on in
    (the water might say)
    I’m fine.


    — Aunt Shecky
    (All Rights Reserved)

  2. #2
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    I paddled through this licking an ice lolly. (Lots of ice about from all the hail). All hail Auntie. A triumph! Give your laurels a quick dusting, but remember, thou art mortal.

    Live and be well - H

  3. #3
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    Bravo! You have such a wild imagination, loved every bit of it! I wish I could hear the music in your head by the beach-side composers, but I live in the desert. Nature truly inspired a beautiful poem here full of rhythm, movement, and life. I hope you didnt agonize over the grammar and punctuation all that much and that the swim was enough relief of your analytical mind.

    My favorite line , "every little scalloped shell has a meaning all its own."
    Loved this Auntie, be safe and well.
    Last edited by Shadowlight; 05-04-2020 at 10:14 AM.

  4. #4
    Registered User tailor STATELY's Avatar
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    Wonderful Auntie !... just passing through and catching up. Your poem suits my sensibilities well.

    Praying you are doing better than fine.

    I'll echo Shadowlight's favorite line and add:

    "A half clam held to one’s tin ear
    might whisper the difference
    between a meringue and a merengue
    and tell how the “Unfinished Symphony”
    (or is it “Swan Lake?”)
    begins as a beguine plays
    with the tides of the Sound."

    Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
    tailor
    tailor

    who am I but a stitch in time
    what if I were to bare my soul
    would you see me origami

    7-8-2015

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