Monday, 1 May 2017

'THE LONG, COLD WALK TO THE SURF': NEW POEM ABOUT MAWGAN PORTH...

The Long, Cold Walk To the Surf…

Persistent light rain had caused angst for the ocean
Which was turbulent and thrashed its wrath
In a display of irregular twists and roars,
As I trod my stern and determined path.

Plodding on, my feet slapped cold sea
Which shocked my bare ankles raw
But I controlled the urge to show fear at all,
In case a nearby dog-walker saw…

Satisfactorily alone then, I cajoled the wild tide,
As I trudged deeper through shallows of unrest;
Whereby an irritable breaker baptised my grey hair
And icy water seeped down to my chest…

Completely unwatched, I truly didn’t flinch,
As a pair of gnashing waves neared,
Thus I turned, I leaned, I pushed off on hard sand
And through the pandemonium my board seared…

It was like that for the time I lingered,
Alone still, buffeted and exhilarated;
My arthritic right knee was so frozen however,
That I felt nothing as I surfed on, elated…

I blessed the ocean, even took a small bow,
I thanked nature for cooling my tensions;
I hiked back up the beach, took a long, hot shower
And found temporary relief from life’s apprehensions…

Pete Ray
30th April 2017

Didn’t feel well but trod the hard sand down to the sea and Mawgan Porth’s receded tide.

It was cold, yes.

It was brilliant though, as the untidy ocean thrashed me shorewards for a number of fine, fast rides.

My knee was so cold that I felt no pain at all…


It’s what I do…


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