The Swimmer

In turgid water with arms outstretched,
each determined stroke a bold act to
move within the grip of its cold embrace,
trying to temper the body in its motion.

His naked buttocks quiver in the dark
chilled sea; an endless soaking purgatory.
From squeak of dawn he has waited with
keen determination for this ritual hour.

Can you see him dive deeply into the
darkness, eyelids closed tight like a clam
as he travels the path of least resistance,
a silent fear of lost direction his only thought.

Tendrils of kelp torment his pale flesh,
their elongated swirls make his efforts
a sad imitation of the sea’s inhabitants
as they tease this inept, late-come mariner.

He has baptised himself in the ancient mother
with scant regard for her fluid validation
while he travels through her pulsating womb,
awaiting the chance to crawl into to a new life.

Blurred vision allowes shards of virid sunlight
guide him towards the sanctuary of ancient
granite, warmed and awaiting his shivering,
lumbering form; he slither slowly ashore.

Droplets of living moisture evaporate upon his
invigorated self, allowing those other travellers
begin their own cycle of life on this strange orb, as
did the ancestors of all through the mercy of time.


Adrian Kavanagh

Travel So Unwisely Undertaken

When all is trouble and time
is taken from within our grasp,
it is only then we can fly to
the farthest reaches of ourselves

And find that place within,
which opens to our own world
of truth and quiet understanding.
A travelling clock ticking forever is

The untimed, jumbled, countless thoughts
painting mindless pictures we are
least likely to see or comprehend
until we stop moving and observe,

Quite clearly that those images
too have moved on and left us
bewildered by the constant travel
we have so unwisely undertaken.