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)

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. :D

Live and be well - H

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.

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