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Poems On / About SWIMMING  2/7/2016 5:47:04 PM
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Wavy Seas

We all swim greatly and wonderfully In our seas when they are calm, but As they turn wavy, We immediately go ashore... We come closer to that Rock of Suicide To cling tightly... Whitecaps keep coming ashore just to Show their muscular abilities anytime... We get belittled and we get scared when Those wavy seas move towards us... We are weaker than anyone can think Anytime, anywhere, and everywhere... Only swimmers who get scared from Those wavy seas can go to swim in Fares' swimming-pool anytime... Who rides any sea, even those wavy ones, Should not get scared from drowning anytime.... ______________________________________________________________________

Read more poems from MOHAMMAD SKATI >>>



Swimming Sport.

Water born species always swims
No one teaches them to swim
The best swimmers of rivers
Oceans, and waterfalls in easy.

Swimming the wonderful exercise
For the humans a sport for fitness
keeps away diseases and strengthens
The mind, body, and physical structure

Swimming that gives great relaxation
Swimming that bringing enjoyment
Swimming that gets confident mind
Swim as you like in different forms,
But always keep your safety in water.
Gangadharan nair Pulingat..

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Jonah Wills Us To Swallow Own Calamities?

A fish has entered our minds—
It mouths the words - you must swim
Life is a great flood - you must swim
…'Swim for your lives'.

'A great flood is coming, be not like Jonah'.
But, please also do not hide
…Swim, swim for your lives…
Swim out; out to meet - tsunami wash tide.

Every ebb and flow is a watermark—
Adding new scales of sacrifice - survived.
'Don't count your battle scares,
Keep the faith; keep swimming, all will be revived'.
Mark Heathcote

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Water Wings

I've always been afraid of water, ever since I was a kid. To tell you the truth, I still can't swim very well.

Shivering, shirtless, damped towel, chlorine burning my nostrils, I strapped water wings onto my eight year old pipe cleaners, and bent them at the elbow. Like I got this! I can do this! Stand back, running start, off this diving board and into that pool, one, two, three- HOLY SHIT. I can't do it, Mom please don't make me, Mom, please. My heart tore a fan belt, it was working over time, my swim trunks tight-TIGHT. I was one of those skinny kids whose ribs you could count. Those little kids who are too skinny, its adorable. You can still count my ribs its just not cute anymore. And I hate the way it felt you know standing at the edge unsure of how to jump, but just as unsure of what to do once I hit the surface. Still, I jumped. Clenched my muscles, and embraced the impact, sunk down, water in my ears, nose, and mouth, down in my lungs, I couldn't breathe- lonliness, lonliness, eventually, I learned how to swim. And ill never forget what it was like standing at the edge.

Then I went to New York City, poetry on a street corner, hip hop at a college party. New York City. Kissing every girl that says I'm special. Embraced by every pair of legs spread wide enough, drinking every moment with a bottle of beer from a chaser, I don't love her, but she told me my words were beautiful, so it's justified and I am broken, not gifted. Thrown up but still vacant, still shivering at the edge, still got ribs you can count, still out of shape and emaciated, still wishing I could believe in Jesus, or a prophet, or myself, treading water, inches from drowning in inches. Gallons of heartache, lack of beauty, punished me for learning how to never face my fears. Puncture my water wings, unclip my life vest. I am in shark infested water and I've got a bleeding heart. I never learned how to swim beyond treading water and the doggy paddle. And I got picked on in gym class, in my shallow end, for being the skinny white kid who rapped, throwing W's in front of racial slurs and casting me as a fake so one day I snapped, Shoved my books in the locker room and punched a kid in the neck. Shakes him around, tears streaming down my twelve year old face, I can't breath under this pressure, and CPR is not an option. Real poets feel pain and make mistakes. Love me for who I am, or dismiss me as a novelty. Either way, you better get the eff out my shallow end. I got caught in a bloody fishnet shrine to abide the buddy system. And now I'm sinking to the tiles below. I've always been afraid of water. I still can't swim very well. I'm telling you so that you know, its okay to be yourself. Take off that mask, its ugly. It doesn't help you float, trust me.

by Mike Gerbino
Michael Carrier

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Poems On / About SWIMMING