On seashore's realm a fragrant rose in bloom.
A surfer with her board observes the rock
along the shore where butterflies repose.
Butterfly clothed in hues of spring alights.
On scented breeze he lightly settles down
and holds a pose of grace and elegance.
As the surfer gently tiptoes in to see
the butterfly responds in movement, too.
His wings they open up and close for her.
By this she takes his gesture as sincere.
She smiles and soon believes her heart is sure.
She's found a lovely butterfly to love.
Inspired by Bruce Dickinson song Darkside of Aquarius
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On the wings of the first hellrider rode venom —
so copious it stained sky and moonlight,
making mothers bolt their doors
against the eastern warmonger's hot gust.
From molten rock and flaming seas the second rode,
hawking evil wares; his tongue a forge of lies,
spinning promises, seeding secret agents
to rule and mislead in every land.
The third came as a preacher of war ~
turning brothers on brothers, sisters on sisters,
tilling the soil with blood to make it ready
for the fourth — who carved theology into terror.
I tried to run — my feet sunk in wet clay.
Then a lone silver surfer appeared:
from starlit sky or silver sea I could not tell;
he drew me from the mire, breathed strength into my arms.
I vowed to reinvent the wheel:
let fascists taste their own venom, feed their children poisons they brewed,
slay kin with the swords they bloodied.
Death will kiss them in their sleep.
The Ballad of the California Surfer
Early morning waves rise high
Looking like it touches the California sky
While surfers glide through morning waves,
Sun shining down on the sand
As ocean mist wets his hand,
There's no place I would rather be
Then on a surfboard out at sea
Through the horizon
While waves are risen
I will surf the california seas
Through that wet misty breeze
When I surf the waves with such ease,
Because there's no place I would rather be
Then on a surfboard out at sea
While the sun is risen
On the early morning horizon
I will surf the California seas
"Let the moon teach you the art of being beautiful and lonely at the same
time.” ~Anand Thakur
O, the night traveler
you are the beacon for
the distressed who are
dwelling in darkness.
As the knight of the night,
you ride upon your white steed
wearing a silver armor
for those hopeless lovelorn.
You are the afterglow of the sun
when it retires for the day.
This summer, my twin met a surfer guy,
wearing bright shorts, looked like a dragonfly.
Funny, had a bush so thick,
thought he’d impress his new chick,
his topless humor made her wave goodbye.
Alone he was
thinking
Money wasn' t a problem
but loneliness was
Looking for memories
he found himself
A past that was gone
surfing waves on a present
with a big board.
Waiting for the next wave
to surf on.
Standing up in front of the sea
he saw the emptiness
he faced the ocean
with his board
but he only found waves
to the same shore.
A seashore to nowhere
but himself to be found
Covered with sand
he was found
There, on that beach
where he used to be looking
for that big wave
to surf his past
with no money
but a life that was worth
to surf on,
without the people
he left behind.
Galactic traveler Speed of light Unstoppable force Endless fight Wisdom and truth Surfs the skies Boundless energy Never dies The Silver Surfer My hero to the end For Contest
The pink honeycomb provided a mysterious grace,
Warrior with a sloth-purse unclosed wound.
Sargassum, barefoot hollow woman,
As if such an object could meet my canonic sound.
Soak my feet in cool moist sand,
And juncture to the purple sunset over the sea-bound.
Slowpoke chucklehead hump and heave its swarm,
Create a hole in the caliginous maroon of the unfound.
Until she's done and back to the ocean,
I set and bout her unreal breath with the ground.
This sea a ford motor stimulates altitudinous,
It evokes in me how all designs breathe and drown.
Ocean waves are noisy
like the rain dexterously pours down.
Written: October 10, 2022
Learner Surfer
I am training myself to surfboard
Practicing on my ironing board
For I'm no loser
And the best mover
Shall win a trophy surfer award.
So I've ironed my best underwear
My motto is to always prepare
If I have a fall
I will not bare all
And my assets won't feel whiffs of air.
+*+*
18th July 2022
Limerick Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Lisa YY
Flat on her stomach Grannie rode
her adrenalin overflowed
she went in style
with a big smile
into the paddle battle she flowed
The heart of an ancient wahine
she called her personal genie
a goofy foot true
she already knew
she’d forgotten her bikini
Grannie won the right of way
a righteous spot they all say
her stick’s outline
her own design
shaper champion this day
I saw an old lady at home
Whose habits bizarre when alone!
She thinks she's abroad
On her ironing board
Surfing tides in a wavey zone.
Her arms and her legs were well spread.
Her curlers tucked neat on her head.
Her pearls sparkled bright,
She squealed with delight,
"Well I can't do this when I'm dead!"
Affectionately dubbed "Silver Surfer"
What a spirit for any to care for!
A tonic indeed
When humour's the need,
And for it the board ain't much worse, awe!
Written 14th July 2022
For the "Limerick" contest
(For a picture of a lady standing on
an ironing board, poised like a surfer.)
Sponsor: Lisa YY
awake all night
scared at first light
i can hear the roar
it excites me to the core
i smell it in the air
its here for those who dare
line after line a sight so fine
ruler edge lumps of water
the earth has awoken her sleeping daughter
from far away they travel to me
i am gifted a prize from the sea
they crash on the sand
from the distant land
the swell is here
forget last nights beer
grab our boards
travel away from the hoards
secret wave peels on the sand
so lucky i am to live in this land
fear and excitement,turn to a smile
as i ride the wave for more than a mile
on my twin fin in classic style
will i ever remove this grinning smile
some are born far in land
others are born from the sand
people that see the oceans motion
return to the sea out of pure devotion
Is she skating on blue gill the other faeries tittered.
She was skimming the water, her skirts were all skittered.
She is getting wet, doesn’t she care about that?
This came from a watching interested tabby cat.
The faeries watched her surfing and decided to join.
They loved this pretty fountain, so full of coin.
The cat tried to jump in thinking it was what he ought’er.
He found out rather quickly he was not fond of water.
A randy surfer from Malibu Crest
Untied the bikini top off of Celest
You’re my Betty let’s hang loose
As he tried for her caboose
She slapped his hand away from her breast
Aloha Barney and get off my turf
You’re a randy dude, who can’t even surf
Rico won’t tell you again
I bet you’ve never hung ten
She's not your Betty, uncool of you Murph
What is a poem,
be it long or then short
When in service to others,
to agree and consort
And be it objective,
to run with the pack
Its identity loosened,
its rope to go slack
What is a poem,
when written to please
Each word second-guessed,
each phrase to appease
The critic, the pundit,
the dilettante sure
Your blood for their letting
—your words but a score
(The New Room: March, 2021)
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