She came at me
from nowhere
slip sliding
easing into
the shore,
ramping up
from behind,
I was mistaken
when I thought
it was a game
and then the
second shot,
the ROGUE WAVE –
the one that
rushes from
under the first
loaded with
kelp and
power,
hurling into
shore at
breakneck
speed,
I was lost
in the glee
of the moment
thinking
it would be
OK to wait
stand still
let her swirl
around me,
But suddenly
I was down
covered by
cold white
foam and
launched into
the rocks of
the devil
pounding from
behind,
from nowhere
slip sliding
easing into
the shore,
ramping up
from behind,
I was mistaken
when I thought
it was a game
and then the
second shot,
the ROGUE WAVE –
the one that
rushes from
under the first
loaded with
kelp and
power,
hurling into
shore at
breakneck
speed,
I was lost
in the glee
of the moment
thinking
it would be
OK to wait
stand still
let her swirl
around me,
But suddenly
I was down
covered by
cold white
foam and
launched into
the rocks of
the devil
pounding from
behind,
It was almost
over before
it began,
I cannot describe
the pain
the amazement
the sheer hell
of gasping
for breath,
the tide pulled
out and my
visitor with it,
leaving me
strangled in
seaweed, soaking
wet,
shocked that
it could happen
to me, the little
BEACH GIRL,
the walker
the lover of
the sea,
She had come
after me
with a vengeance
that betrayed
the tales
we have
heard forever:
Never underestimate
THE POWER
OF A WOMAN!
over before
it began,
I cannot describe
the pain
the amazement
the sheer hell
of gasping
for breath,
the tide pulled
out and my
visitor with it,
leaving me
strangled in
seaweed, soaking
wet,
shocked that
it could happen
to me, the little
BEACH GIRL,
the walker
the lover of
the sea,
She had come
after me
with a vengeance
that betrayed
the tales
we have
heard forever:
Never underestimate
THE POWER
OF A WOMAN!
©J.W.WINSLOW 5/1/10
The musician
never knows
the song
or the writer
the words
or the poet
the thought
the dream
that sinks
into the mind
of the listener,
on that cold
rainy night
or day of fear
when things
are brilliant
and love
is near,
in the most
private times
we turn to
the genius
of artists
imagined
secretly,
in a fantasy
world, they
become our
friends
when no one
else is around,
never knows
the song
or the writer
the words
or the poet
the thought
the dream
that sinks
into the mind
of the listener,
on that cold
rainy night
or day of fear
when things
are brilliant
and love
is near,
in the most
private times
we turn to
the genius
of artists
imagined
secretly,
in a fantasy
world, they
become our
friends
when no one
else is around,
seeping into
the soul
looping in
the brain
the soundtrack
of our lives
words to live by
art to inspire,
they are skilled
ambitious, and
often for hire,
I wonder if
my admiration
is of any
consideration
when they
create the
rhythms of
the world,
probably not,
it’s about
the work,
the voice inside
the shining
pride
of connection.
the soul
looping in
the brain
the soundtrack
of our lives
words to live by
art to inspire,
they are skilled
ambitious, and
often for hire,
I wonder if
my admiration
is of any
consideration
when they
create the
rhythms of
the world,
probably not,
it’s about
the work,
the voice inside
the shining
pride
of connection.
©J.W.WINSLOW 4/1/10