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  1. #1
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    St. Augustine, FL
    Posts
    293
    Images
    15

    Surf Poems.....I'm such a chic.

    Trying To Explain

    Where to start?
    Where to begin?
    It’s like being born again.
    Opened completely without shame,
    Discovering new realms without pain,
    Diving deep and struggling for self,
    To grace the goal…you're your only help.
    Mysteries surface,
    They come and they go,
    The more you witness the smaller you grow.
    But in this tininess…in this now,
    You’re more than you’ve ever been…stronger somehow.
    Maybe you don’t get me…
    Where to start?
    Where to begin?
    It’s like being born again.

    --DirtyMomma

  2. #2
    Join Date
    Sep 2010
    Location
    Long Buried Island
    Posts
    764
    There I sat broken hearted
    Wanted to shiit
    But only farted....

  3. #3
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    St. Augustine, FL
    Posts
    293
    Images
    15
    LOL....sorry to hear that

  4. #4
    there once was a surfer from Nantucket...

  5. #5
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    St. Augustine, FL
    Posts
    293
    Images
    15
    Quote Originally Posted by Gfootr View Post
    there once was a surfer from Nantucket...
    Oh tell me more lol

  6. #6
    Join Date
    Dec 2010
    Location
    Virginia Beach
    Posts
    973
    Images
    2
    Quote Originally Posted by Gfootr View Post
    there once was a surfer from Nantucket...
    Drove up to his favorite spot, took a look at it and said f.u.k it.....

  7. #7
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    St. Augustine, FL
    Posts
    293
    Images
    15
    Carpe Surf'em

    Floating in the tranquility,
    Ignoring my fragility,
    The ocean breathes beneath me.
    The rise and fall,
    The peace of it all,
    Time has released me.
    Waiting for a wave to come,
    Nothing exists but the One,
    An inspiration to me.
    Grateful for the pull of the moon,
    Stress somewhere far past the dunes
    The elements seize me.
    It has all comes down to this minute,
    No one to compete with, I’m the only one in it.
    No one can take it from me, I’m the only one that can win it.
    Thank you Africa, Thank you hurricane,
    Thank you struggle, Thank you pain
    Thank you God for a life reborn, renewed, and reframed.

  8. #8
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    St. Augustine, FL
    Posts
    293
    Images
    15
    O’ To Be A Kook Again
    O’ how I miss those first days of my kookiness…
    When being pushed into a wave was a reason to live,
    When riding the white water on your stomach was cause to smile,
    When staying up for more than three seconds justified a victory stance.

    O’ how I miss those first weeks of my kookiness…
    When dropping in on my knees still counted as “dropping in”,
    When accidently going down the line meant total triumph,
    When catching the reform three times on one ride stoked me so much I couldn’t sleep.

    O’ how I miss those first months of my kookiness…
    When standing on top of a three foot wave scared me,
    When six hours of trying plus six rides equaled ultimate success,
    When I called myself “Queen Nose Dive of the Clan Flounder About” because that’s who I was.

    O’ how I miss that first year of kookiness…
    When wiping out on a big wave counted as surfing,
    When just making it out in a hurricane swell meant the world was a better place,
    When nothing felt more beautiful than my kook-poop-stance going left…again…for some unknown reason.

    O’ how I miss the kookiness…
    When “Wooooowhoooo”s flowed freely from me,
    When nothing about me was embarrassed.
    When I didn’t even know what kook meant.

    O’ to be a kook again.

    By:
    Big White Water

  9. #9
    I think that you'd really like the poetry of J. Robinson Jeffers. He lived near the turn of the 20th century and built by hand his own stone house on a hillside overlooking the Pacific in Carmel, CA. Here's one of my favorites:

    NOVEMBER SURF
    Some lucky day each November great waves awake
    and are drawn
    Like smoking mountains bright from the west
    And come and cover the cliff with white violent cleanness:
    then suddenly
    The old granite forgets half a year’s filth:
    The orange-peel, egg-shells, papers, pieces of clothing,
    the clots
    Of dung in corners of the rock, and used
    Sheaths that make light love safe in the evenings: all
    the droppings of the summer
    Idlers washed off in a winter ecstasy:
    I think this cumbered continent envies its cliff then….
    But all seasons
    The earth, in her childlike prophetic sleep,
    Keeps dreaming of the bath of a storm that prepares up
    the long coast
    Of the future to scour more than her sea-lines:
    The cities gone down, the people fewer and the hawks
    more numerous,
    The rivers mouth to source pure; when the two-footed
    Mammal, being someways one of the nobler animals, regains
    The dignity of room, the value of rareness.

  10. #10
    It's no feat
    to beat
    the heat.
    So, jeat
    you seat.
    Be fleet!
    Be fleet!
    Cool and discrete,
    honey.