surfing

found poems thoughts

~ extraplorer ~ Leave a comment

After discovering/creating my first found poem, I found that there were two other poems present in my photos from cities I visited last year.  Somehow, working on these has been one of the most joyful things I have ever done with my writing.  I love the idea of poems lurking all over the place, and it takes a person to connect with them and make them visible to other people.

This collaborative approach to being alive is a thread that runs through a lot of my work.  In surfing, while the sea is beautiful by itself, the presence of a surfer makes a wave into something else.  The interaction of the the surfer with the forces of the wave reveals something that is powerful and profound about how we live our lives in  collaboration with our circumstances.  We are not defined by circumstances, but we are always living our lives within them.  Finding the most beautiful way to relate to our circumstances takes vision,  power, grace and practice.

A found poem is an example of a beautiful relationship to the world around us.

out the back

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I have made it
out the back
drenched, half seeing
inert from sustained effort –
wave crash wave crash
crash again.

Salt water in my
ears eyes hair nose mouth.
I am meant to be
here to catch
my wave.
I can’t face it now.

The paddle out has
terrified and
exhausted me.
I beg the sun to shed
a ray on my
frozen hands.
It doesn’t.

I keep one eye
warily
on the horizon
lest an errant pilgrim
should catch me out.
I would be done for.

Breathing and
lying flat, a hidden
alchemy restores my
senses, turns despair
to quivering hope.
A wave! Perhaps I
could consider it after all?

I lurk, trying to look
interested, but
in fact avoiding any
drift to the take-off zone, wish I
looked braver, but
don’t.

I wish I had a
fruit pastille.

For the first time
I am aware of
other surfers
like me, probably,
looking braver than
they feel.

But all of us are
out here, waiting.
I sit up, salute,
and turn to make a
full assessment:
sun, sea, wind
position, rhythm,
sets, self.

I inch forward,
put myself at risk
of drowning,
paddle gently,
invite adventure
with a tentative
inner nod.

The wave heaves me
back and then
thrusts me forward.
In a moment I will
tip
out of control again,
at the mercy of
instinct and
every hour of practice.

Sensation of falling…
Will I make it or wipe out?
…