Best Adventuresea Poems
**In this short poem I pay my tribute to all those gallant surf riders out there on the sea !
THE SURF RIDER !
See him riding gallantly the crest of
waves,
With dexterity and poise and flowing
grace!
With his wakeboard he rises to fall, -
to rise once more!
As the waves keep rolling towards the
shore.
Like those surfs the rider continues his
undulating dance,
Be it in England, in Spain or in France !
Riding high on waves as if in a trance!
He did take time to perfect his art,
Having loved the sea and the surf from the
start!
He lives in moments just like those waves,
Floating on their crests as the blood within
raves !
Those surf make music as they rise and
fall,
Where some surfs are short and others tall!
Like a philharmonic conductor par excellence,
He commands those waves with his skilful
presence!
Riding on Time’s moments is no mean art,
But like our surf rider one must make a
gallant start!
-Raj Nandy
New Delhi
the skys are blue the sun is beeming,children laughing and screaming.children
playing in the sands building sandcastles with there hands .the sea is clear ,clear as
can be with the waves comming closer to me .come on now children shall we collect
shells yes maybe .we all enjoyd our time at the sea -side
now home for tea ,next time why not join me at the sea
The Way of the Wind
I am youth.
I follow the wind only to live, play, jump, imagine-today.
Not knowing where it leads to, young, no worries, only to find my inner being yearning,
longing for the open sea, the vast and open sea,
The way of the wind…
I search the world over, looking for love, searching for meaning, finding only parts, feeding
on only crumbs; I taste the salt, and feel the wind, it’s leading, or is it pushing? me--into the
open sea, the vast and open sea.
The way of the wind…
I set sail, the course? nowhere, or is it somewhere? Faith, imagination, energy fuels the
sails. The sea of love, the sea of adventure. Where it goes, I do not know, I do not care, the
unknown, the surprise. Adventure is my love. My inner longing.
The way of the wind…
Cursed is the man whose roots don’t find firm soil, whose seed blows, on the upper winds of
the open sky, across the vast open sea, touching ground but only briefly, then swept again
by the wind of adventure, into the unknown, into the open frigid waters. Fate chooses, I only
catch a ride. It pulls; it pushes me… out to sea. Who am I running from? I do not know.
Too cold, too quiet… Where is my love called Adventure?
Is this the way of the wind…?
I am old.
I long for firmness, solid warm deep rich soil, immovable mountains, children’s voices.
Comfort, steadiness, monotonous. Rooted.
Gypsy blood no more. Mermaid seductions lost at sea. Land is stable, secure, safe. But
maybe, just one last sail… where?
The wind only knows…
Dan Franek 1997
**In this short poem I pay my tribute to all those gallant surf riders out there on the sea !
THE SURF RIDER !
See him riding gallantly the crest of
waves,
With dexterity and poise and flowing
grace!
With his wakeboard he rises to fall, -
to rise once more!
As the waves keep rolling towards the
shore.
Like those surfs the rider continues his
undulating dance,
Be it in England, in Spain or in France !
Riding high on waves as if in a trance!
He did take time to perfect his art,
Having loved the sea and the surf from the
start!
He lives in moments just like those waves,
Floating on their crests as the blood within
raves !
Those surf make music as they rise and
fall,
Where some surfs are short and others tall!
Like a philharmonic conductor par excellence,
He commands those waves with his skilful
presence!
Riding on Time’s moments is no mean art,
But like our surf rider one must make a
gallant start!
-Raj Nandy
New Delhi
**In this short poem I pay my tribute to all those gallant surf riders out there on the sea !
THE SURF RIDER !
See him riding gallantly the crest of
waves,
With dexterity and poise and flowing
grace!
With his wakeboard he rises to fall, -
to rise once more!
As the waves keep rolling towards the
shore.
Like those surfs the rider continues his
undulating dance,
Be it in England, in Spain or in France !
Riding high on waves as if in a trance!
He did take time to perfect his art,
Having loved the sea and the surf from the
start!
He lives in moments just like those waves,
Floating on their crests as the blood within
raves !
Those surf make music as they rise and
fall,
Where some surfs are short and others tall!
Like a philharmonic conductor par excellence,
He commands those waves with his skilful
presence!
Riding on Time’s moments is no mean art,
But like our surf rider one must make a
gallant start!
-Raj Nandy
New Delhi