manhattan roommate
brainwave specialist
blowhard rippling
always partygoer
dolphinfish royalist
turquoise irresistible
undrained rat
swearing yellowlegs
bearable humbling
houseguest behead
surrenderer bart
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • July 20–26, 2026)
I saw her swim out to where
distance and wave height
made her disappear from sight.
The water still carried
the last of summer's warmth.
She was where I would like
to be, loosened from what binds
this body to gravity,
to be free of weight
and feel nothing beneath
my feet but a plunging depth.
I would be tempted
to let myself sink slowly
into that mystery,
taking in wave
and water, to float
as a child would
within a womb, held on the end
of an umbilical cord
linking the now
to eternity.
The boy goes to the pool, full to the brim,
only moistens head, though wishes to swim.
But being too fearful
can't get into the pool.
What to do ? New swimmer ! Encourage him.
The protocol when swimming
Is to circle in a lane.
At least that’s what my husband says;
From swimming I refrain.
You swim a lap and touch the wall
Then circle and return,
As all new members in the pool
Will very quickly learn.
The lanes are also designated
For the fast or slow
Or in-between and every swimmer
Knows where he should go.
Yet sometimes, in the slow lane,
Someone’s sticking to the side.
The rules of circling around
He simply won’t abide.
He bumps the other swimmers
Who, at first, all seem to mind,
Until they figure out that this
Is someone who is blind.
So what should the solution be?
Accommodations made?
The needs of one surpassing all
When justice has been weighed?
I have no answer, but opinions
Certainly will clash,
The end result most likely
Passed along with quite a splash.
Dark water swimmer
If I were a deep-sea diver, I would swim to the Azores
were the water is not so cold; meet up with dolphins
that remembered me from my time on ships when
waving to them from the deck
They would feed me sardines since I’m too slow to catch
anyone alone
When I meet a tiger shark, I will bow my head, show
respect and call him my lordship; messages will be sent
“Don’t touch this man, as he is not a seal.”
I will go ashore in Madeira, get drunk in a bar and when
they arrest and try to deport me, I will tell them the sea
is my home, and they will take me on a helicopter and
push me back to my forever home
This will be witnessed by all creatures of the ocean, who
will say: “Now look, there swims a hero.”
there once was a sly swimmer bloke
whose manners were sure to provoke
his form was unique
a brand new technique
he mastered the women’s breaststroke
Don’t you know why Ted is slimmer?
His eyes no more with hopes glimmer:
Had long swum in pools with shimmer,
As long in frustration swimmer;
Ted would not bear Todd’s New Tipper
Plus dreams of making ‘A Shipper!’…
But one’s knowledge of life deeper,
One no more, in spirit, Sleeper,
Entrance one blocks against Creeper
And proves Goodwill Lover Keeper…
Now, you know why Ted is slimmer
And walrus moustache not trimmer:
Chances of making it dimmer,
One gets slimmer and face grimmer!
For weeks Bruce wresting with the intent
And right now wants to unveil content!
A right palm packing pressures round steel,
Watching eyes Death sight and owners feel:
For whom it's meant his best: speeding heels
As no single wounds from it heals
Onlookers to open banks of tears
The moment the thing lands: what heart fears...
Still a fact: if cops appear Bruce off
And wherever he his will not cough...
And remember to phone the police
To something stop from going amiss.
Yesterday I found a worm in my apple.
Well, half a worm.
C’mon life, take the gloves off.
You’re better than that.
I like to think we’re still friends, though.
Well, at least there are no hard feelings on my part.
I don’t need blindness to open my eyes.
I never believed you need disadvantage or
disability to achieve enlightenment.
Stephen Hawkings got nuthin' on me.
Except, maybe a degree or two.
And some gills.
My feet still make that squishy, splashing sound,
at the beach, by the sea of poetry,
where I find myself.
So what if my fingers and toes are
without webbing,
So what if I still breathe air.
I will one day swim
with the Octopi and Mermaids.
I will one day rise to get my air.
This is the promise God made to me
the day I was born.
Rock beach of
chasms.
A man is pale dough
standing in sand.
Shimmer owns his
toes in a flurry of foam,
then withdraws.
He watches for a cue
in a sky of cotton ships
when a clam swallows
all his theories.
Running thunder into
frigid arcs, he is eyeless.
His arms extended,
a child to his mother
until his figure dispels
in the motion of curved glass.
Anonymous inside the
texture of a shadow,
deepening into aquatic blank.
Deeper, his nostrils drink arrows.
Deeper, his eyes open to films
of green bleeding blue.
He finds a secret madness
like forgetting at the bottom,
in granules of thick sand,
in nowness totally pressurized,
in the dislodging of a cornerless dream,
while bubbles volley from his lips.
Then he is up in the rise of brushing swirls,
the sun quivering through
the looking glass above.
Identity pounds his lungs.
Birth against the surface,
he becomes the heave of wind
from a glossy face.
But he keeps plummeting,
for a pearl that keeps changing,
a luster he can't keep,
a capture escaping.
I dreamt of Babe Ruth
in Howard Johnsons'
lighted pool doing
the backstroke so brilliantly.
No bats lying around
anywhere. warm water
reflected dorsal pecs,
beautiful biceps, round
spiral muscles fanning
along so softly.
Finally finding the nerve
to say: Babe! your a
ballplayer; Sultan of swat.
Smiling at me timidly:
I'm a ballplayer and a
a swimmer. He replied
calmly gliding away.
A swan in the moonlight.
Floating
Swimming
Backstroke
A float
Swimmer
Dinner
Catfish
Rubbish
Bottom
Column
A float
Backstroke
4/29/19
There was a girly landlubber in pink
Who to a burly fisherman was linked --
Not a swimmer, she sank
In his great big fishtank --
Now in winter she's a frozen ice rink
There’s a fin in the water
What’s its path?
Is it toward
Or has it passed
There’s a fin in the water
What’s its movement?
Is it curved
Or is it straight
There’s a fin in the water
Oh
It’s a shark
There’s a fast swimmer
In the water
He’s making a path
Straight to the edge
So he will last
Authors note
This poem has been Censored
city swimmer yesterday
screamed a fish was in the way
lifeguards who had heard the shout
quickly tried to pull her out
and my goldfish from the bay.
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