The Surfer

Even though the sand was littered with pumice stone
And the waves too small
and sparse for the
serious wave riders to
aggravate you still
strode purposefully
out across the sand
The surfboard you held
under one arm was almost
bigger than you were
Perhaps to you the waves
were like an adversary,
Something to be conquered –
A conduit to fame in your mind
You were so small and had no thought in your mind
But to have fun
To imagine yourself a hero
A wave conquering hero
While you were riding the swell perhaps the
Thrust and parry of your surfboard
Was in answer to the lunge of the villain’s knife
You slayed the waves that day my son
You rode them until
They yielded to your mastery
They never knew the worth of the
Liege who was riding them
You were ten then,
Surfing was your passion
And you were mine
You were the best of the best
Never wavering in your delight of life
Ten years later, you are still the best
The template on which
I judge my life

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Comments (1)

Elizabeth, I thoroughly enjoyed this poem. I could relate to it in many waves (sorry, couldn't help myself) . You captured the true escence of surfing combined with the love of a mother for her son. I only wish that I had written it myself. I look forward to reading more of your work. Thanks Gypsy