A Collection of Poems on Swimming
Limerick for First Day At Beach Swimming
When the heat is too much for our crew
HOT! When we finally get the clue,
grab a bag for picnics
yearn for those sandy kicks
with some chairs and a blow up boat too.
It is funny how attitudes change
when children act like they have the mange
there is suddenly joy
with each child’s beach toy,
there are laughs with each sunblock exchange.
It only takes one time to forget
to bring a large shade structure to set
so the baby can sleep
in the shade and wont weep,
sunbathing until our needs our met.
My wife and I will swim when we can,
the first to reach the buoy is our plan,
there is luck with each touch
and we both need it much
when we go home with our darkened tan.
The Swimming Pool
On broken pavement lies our yearly pool
where in the summer heat the kids do swim
as if each stroke itself a holy hymn
each immersion a spiritual tool.
Their laughs become an Augustian chant
as if the glare and Cicada are one
our spirits slowly melt in the sun
a splash hits me hard like a Baptist rant.
Sometimes a life in books can seldom see
what truths can be found alone in long looks
upon the smiles of children in our pool.
Their souls float in the water as if sea
to dangle toys and pretend their fishing hooks
this does so much more than keep our skin cool.
Within the watery shadows of longing
when night knelt upon her shoulder
she dipped each doubt into the wave
Before the sun began it’s calling
with boundless colorful allure
an ocean horizon to save
Here oceanside she is not alone
ripples a theater of her movement
a brief moment of maturity caught
She thought this sun would never have shown
message of life giving heat keenly sent
a meaning for her the one she had sought
A fear of weather
will the day be fair or bright
a reflective pool
The Beach Day
The sand was black and muddy pools did sit
where we sat our multicolored towels
our dog alone to roam on beachly prowls
near the early twenties getting lit.
As I lay in sand with squinted stare
one child digs, one child stands in shallow,
one stands in hot sand like Crusoe,
all mix together in the suns glare.
Thinly clad women working on tans,
some men digging ditches by the road
have taken off their shirts and shoes
with sweaty ballcaps they stand in sand
to let the cool water ease their load,
next to the tourists, drinking Coors.
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