Wednesday, 14 July 2010

Fight with the Crashing Sea


The winds were against us. Our sails were defenseless.

The Boom shaka laka went bash.

The Elie Jack took a wackety smash,

This, our fight with the crashing sea.


The waves made me puke.  I couldn’t handle my soup.

I went down to rest and compose.

But the shaking lingered, so ill defined,

No respite down below.


I want to make time, not distort space and mind.

I’m amniotic in fluid floating.

I want relaxation while I’m on vacation.

Upwind isn’t pleasant or kind.




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