I spent the afternoon watching my son surf on Vazon beach. Whilst I watched I wrote two poems. The first I called;
The Watchers
Waves roll in from the West
their green backs rise and morph
to tumbling white spume
just before the flat expanse
of golden sand.
Beyond the breakers
a line of silhouettes sit
watching, waiting
rising and falling as rollers
power shoreward beneath them.
Beyond them a kite surfer
prowls the shore line
occasionally leaping skyward
to sour on the wind
like a graceful albatross.
The watchers sit up
some turn toward shore
the green wall bears down
tt stands tall but does not break
and surfers begin to paddle.
Gracefully they spring to kneel
and then stand
their boards turn and glide
ahead of the foaming mass
as the ocean carries them in.
John Carré Buchanan
28 August 2011
