young Spitz, young Phelps

I am blessed with two sons, who having seen their father hobble with damaged knees from rugby have wisely eschewed football, rugby, or lacrosse and have taken up the sport of swimming. Their school is a powerhouse in swimming in Orange County; the season has just begun so as a father one has the joy of watching their hard work come to some fruition. Both are fast and getting faster---maybe some of the genes from Alaskan Poet who swam in Alaska during the summers when seining was on hold have taken hold. The following poem was written after watching the Sailors demolish a swim team from Los Alamitos. Hope you enjoy...also check out my almost daily tweets on my twitter account twitter.com/alaskanpoet

Sailors in the Pool
Navies own the oceans and the blue waters they do rule,
But in this Harbor, the Sailors own the pool
Blue clad Speedos coiled upon their blocks
Pool side torpedoes of awe and shock
Waiting for the whistle to launch and gravity to defy
For a moment then to break water churning on the fly.
Hours upon hours of swimming in the cold early morn,
Dreams of glory never die, always reborn
In a world shrinking so fast knowledge a day ago may be obsolete
Time measured in almost nano seconds of a touch pushed by kicking feet
Each stroke seems another rush to devolve
To an earlier age when gills would solve
The need to turn one’s head to inhale
On the surface the wake leaves a frothy trail
Speed is something not given but must be earned
Hours with no spectators through the waters churn
No matter the yells or applause or cheers
Only the sound of water rushing past one’s ear
Sailors in blue Speedos to conquer time and lane
Hard work and effort in fashion, never to wane.
© April 13, 2010
Michael P. Ridley