Bobbing in moonlight, pleasured by waves;

journeying through swell, under stars;

buffeted by wildness, first murmur, then roar;

smacked against rocks, the foam and the crack


Coasting on rollers, taken for a ride;

immersion, hope, exhilaration, surprise;

borne along on billows, swept up by joy;

directed where the tide decides


Chill dawn emerging, waking in brightness;

thrown upon grit, stranded, discarded;

beached in a heap with stones and starfish;

playthings of the night, whitening in the sun


◄ Something for Everyone

Question 17 ►


Profile image

Ann Foxglove

Wed 25th Aug 2010 10:00

As long as you haven't sunk without trace Greg! ;-)

Profile image

Greg Freeman

Wed 25th Aug 2010 09:57

Thanks,Ann and Ray. I feel both buoyed and a little buffeted, but in a good way!

Profile image

Ann Foxglove

Wed 25th Aug 2010 08:34

I like this a lot Greg, a lot to see in it, but simply said.

Profile image

Ray Miller

Tue 24th Aug 2010 21:47

Hello Greg. I wouldn't have grasped the dream connection either.Maybe if the punctuation were less tight that aspect would be more apparent.I liked 3rd verse best, discarded and starfish are lovely rhymes and beached in a heap is good.The least effective part, for me, is "immersion, hope, exhilaration, surprise" and then joy in the next line -too many abstract nouns.

Profile image

Cynthia Buell Thomas

Fri 20th Aug 2010 14:52

Your note makes the poem even better. I missed the metaphor, even with all your excellent 'guidepost words'; can only think it was my experience with morning tides in Bermuda, after the 'social boating' of the prior evening/night, and personally collecting nasty flotsam to 'clean up' the lovely beaches. Your meaning in the poem is very clear - my error.

Profile image

Greg Freeman

Fri 20th Aug 2010 13:22

Glad you enjoyed this, Cynthia. You mentioning a body brings me to the second strand in the poem, how for me it is also about dreams and that feeling when you wake that you've been taken on a journey over which you had no control, and then washed up somewhere, you don't know where. It's a feeling I get more and more as I grow older!

Profile image

Cynthia Buell Thomas

Thu 19th Aug 2010 10:38

An ode to a plastic petrol bottle or a soiled nappie or a netted seal washed on to our pristine shale, shell and sand! This is brilliant, so unorthodox of topic and lovely of execution that it creates the need to 'rethink' what rubbish actually is. Very clever.

I am aware that you may have used the term 'flotsam' as any article from a shipwreck, which association lends a peculiar potency to the beauty of your words since it could be, literally, a body.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message