Life’s a Beach

A singularity in a tub
Diffusing into nothingness
Its premiere spent
Unjustified ambiguity
Lost in the storm of taste
As a grain of salt snuggled deep
Within a corn fritter
-meaningless –
– without accompanied sameness of like grains

Two, three, four that strives for five
I saw the tongue melted mariachi tango
Not that it would be noticed
As slickly does the one glide with twisted elegance against an other
Though not expecting that a third too to two
Yet but not for long

Six, seven, eight, nine and then comes to ten
The cascade of heat and musk
Liquefied the sight
More the so
When standing far enough away
The misted kisses curl up from your toes
Like poison racing in the bloodstream
To the heart
That despite
The need for calm
Pushes the accelerator to the floor

Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen that is seen pre-fifteen
Castigation is your earn
If left is your will
To sit simply on the beach
Watching the world around
Trapaizing merrily sullen along
Destined to burn
To feel your essence parch and wrinkle
In the idleness of solitude
Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen blurrily to nineteen
Yet to hurl into the white tipped crests
Forced to focus on the here and now
Fearing to stop
To sink
The world becomes the horizon
Never to breached
Are you
Ever fighting through the thickness of the pressure
As yells of
“Go under, go under and see its beauty”
Leads to selfishly reserving the airiness of within
As it bombards every pore to gain entry
To saturate
To bring in its own
Til of you there is nothing
And all of the elasticity of movement is taut
To be bloated to such un-resemble

Forty comes with burden of eyelid and tongue heavy
A strafe across is for the uncommitted
Earning not truth of concern but a tired pity
That evokes the genetic memory that one must emote
To be considered better
Empowered to look down upon
To objectify to the lowest common denominator
To beseech to amnesia of what had been the uniqueness of the ago
Life is cheap in the shallows
But to swim then to expensive elegance
Of the deep
Has the bank of self worth been broken
For the troubled vortexes
Swirls counter to the wise
It’s a shallow world from the razor’s track
To sink below the surface
To appear to have depth
Drops become a drizzle
Turning clarity to pinkish blur in dispersal
All to succumb
For a world of uncare that perhaps
Will not even be there

I would like to say a big thanks to the folks at the Poet’s Rally for this award; much appreciated and look forward to spending the weekend reading some outstanding material from the talent out in cyber poetic wilds.


30 thoughts on “Life’s a Beach

  1. I did not wish to nominate anyone until I had actually read some of the entries this round. I would like to offer my nomination to Ms. Queenly for her entry…


  2. I thought you were doing a numeric succession poem or something, when I saw numbers from one to nineteen all there.. some powerful imageries in this well written poem..


    1. Thank you kindly – I wrote this while I was waiting to the see the doctor at the emergency department for lacerations on my back and on my left hand. I had been bleeding for about an hour and forty minutes by the time I decided to pass the time by writing – which is by no means a commentary on the poor condition of the Canadian health care system; it had happened at work when I my middle knuckle was hooked by the corner of a piece of metal coming out of the flying cut off saw (a saw with two blades that moves forward to match the speed of the material coming out with a long clamp on both ends to hold the material steady) which then pushed me back into the three prongs of the roller table (the prongs were originally used to secure the table to another piece of machinery but now sits as a separate entity). Once the prongs pushed enough into my back, that pain made me forget about the pain in my hand and allowed me to decide to rip my hand off the metal and get the hell out of the way before the saw forced the prongs through my shoulder blade. Rather than seek immediate first aid, I wrapped my hand up with a couple of gloves and did the order which took about 35 minutes. After I shut the saw and table down, I put a couple of gauze pads over my knuckle and went to the emergency room.

      I’ve mentioned it before, I’m sure, that bleeding is a fairly common occurrence for me, however this was the closest I’ve come in a while to serious injury since I toppled partially down a mountain side in a tent during a wind and rain storm – if you don’t count the time the pneumatic shears fell from the top of the machine I was repairing and cut open the top of my head…or when I almost obeyed my instincts to stick my foot out to act as a brace against a 8,000 coil of metal that was threatening to begin rolling…or when metal shot out of the saw and lacerated my forearm…or the time the skill saw I was using kicked back and came less than an inch away from cleaving itself into my sternum…my father thinks that maybe after this particular incident that I should reconsider my lack of faith in the system and just take a position that the only damage I could sustain is a paper cut. The sad part is that I knew this was going to occur, but as in the past, I have found it easier not to fight destiny when she decides upon something. About a month ago I had the same dream three nights in a row, showing me exactly as it had happened, down to the clothes I was wearing to the cinnamon coloured dirt and snow sludge dripping down the pane of the glass doors. Years ago I thought when the dreams would turn to be a backwards echo of something; I would brace myself to undo the deja vu – which ended up happening anyway. I now have come to the conclusion that these instances are my brain tapping into the “Coming Soon” trailers of the Cosmos for an upcoming pratfall festival.

      I settled down in my usual spot, the middle gurney that doubles for the emergency room beds in the outer office (there are three all told, separated by retractable curtains that seem to be colour coordinated with the colour of the latex gloves of the moment), once again thinking that after all these years you’d think that they’d have posted a “reserved for” sign atop just for me. Waiting in my linen tomb I decided to listen to the surroundings to ascertain whom my bed mates were; no sounds on the left side but on the right side I could here the mewings of a youngish girl. From what I managed to gather, she had attempted to slash her wrist whilst sitting in the family Jacuzzi.

      The instigation of such an action? It turns out that the girl had been quite upset about seeing another girl, who though the language would suggest otherwise, I assume was a friend, kissing a boy that this girl had been interested in. This wasn’t a guy who had already been in her pants, but someone she liked – obviously quite alot. There was the trembling clucking of a woman, the deep growlish responses from the emergency room doctor, and truthfully, I lost interest in the matter as it was, to me a trifle – not to say from the girl’s perspective it was anything but, or to take anyway the magnitude of the emotional trauma the girl was going through – but really, is that a reason to try to commit suicide? Perhaps it’s my knack to disassociate emotions from life situations or my egotistical nature for I could see no pay off to have the importance of one’s life deemed by the actions of another. I decided my time would best be investing in closing my eyes real tight after a moment of staring into the harsh hospital flood light-like ceiling fixtures to make pretty colours.

      A few minutes later, I heard the noises of the girl’s gurney being unlocked and wheeled away. The question the feminine voice sounded like the typical question one would ask a doctor; was she going to be alright; hardly anything that would deter me from my swirling my eyes around while I looked at the bright center light in order to create a sun dog effect on my retina. The second question though brought my attention fully to my right ear – did the doctor know if the Jacuzzi would just filter out the blood eventually or would she have to drain and sanitize it, or did he know someone who did that for a reasonable price? Rationally, I knew I should be horrified at such a question but it struck me as hilarious, which in turn caused the onset of a giggling fit.
      To attempt to gain a sliver of decorum, I decided to pass the time by jotting what was going on in my head. I asked the nurse’s aide on duty if she could reach into my jacket pocket to grab my little notebook and pen, making a mental note while she rummaged through the pocket to carry it in my front pants pocket on days I anticipated a trip to the hospital. Though the gauze felt like it weighed ten pounds I began to write –I figured that adding to that pain would be more of benefit than when the curtain was pulled back for me to walk out I wouldn’t begin another giggling fit in front of the doctor and the girl’s mother or guardian.

      By the time I left the hospital, my back was patched up; I had five stitches in my hand and this piece. It would only seem logical to place this piece as an example of what can be created by the combination of blood loss, half caught conversation and the over-powering smell of hospital sanitizer. I have noticed that before the stitches my hand had far more dexterity, though now swollen it has become more like a manniquin’s hand which for typing purposes makes it even slower going than usual. It’s not all bad though – it has given me an idea for a new male enhancement process for those men who are attracted to those with a Frankenstein fetish….


    1. Thank you and a buddy of mine used to say, “It don’t matter how cold the water is – as long as you drink alot of beer, the water around you will be warm soon enough”!


  3. Brilliant! The words absorb the reader, there is a wish the poem to never end … I was counting with you and my favorite line was:
    I saw the tongue melted mariachi tango …
    I love tango, and I thank you for the lovely comment on my Tango poem! Regards and hugs for a great job here! Simply beautiful!


  4. There is beauty in the way you write … the words you use. I was trying to fathom the numbers … just random, or getting older? It didn’t matter though, because I was just soaking up the beauty of the words. Besides, I’ve just read your long reply about the circumstances in which you wrote the poem – WOW!!! Love the poem 🙂


    1. After I had typed the piece out I thought about adding something that would explain the numbers but decided against it since I failed to put any parameters of their significance at the time I was jotting, which to me, meant that it was to be let go. As I said in my reply (which believe me, some may say was short as I tend to get long winded at times) it was written at the emergency room – the numbers are droplets of blood running down the side of the jacuzzi from the wrist to the water. Glad you enjoyed the write!!


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