Sunday, 22 September 2013

An ode to swimming


























I love swimming!
My training has been going quite well - helped massively by the fact I'm enjoying it - although with lifeguard training - which itself has been great exercise - and having had a bad shoulder, it has also been a bit difficult trying to fit it in recently. But I don't' feel too bad. I didn't stop swimming altogether and although I can't make a habit of it, it was a pretty good reason to put the swimming on the back burner a little for a couple of weeks (I think in the long run being a lifeguard is really going to help). But now that my lifeguard training is out of the way and my shoulder is feeling a lot better, I'm looking forward to getting back to regular swimming (4-5 times a week).

I also love writing.
I'm assuming that the vast majority of the (very few) people that read this blog are people that know me in the real world and are therefore probably aware that I'm a writer? If not, I have a website where you can read, watch and listen to things that I have written and generally find out more about me and my work: www.anthonyhett.co.uk (if you so wish).

And as a writer - and in life in general - words are very important to me. I write lots of different things - though mostly just for this blog at the moment - but for one reason or another a lot of the things I write come out as poems. I think it's mainly that poems are so immediate (it would probably be fair to read that as 'I'm lazy'). Therefore - as a writer who loves to swim - I thought that it only makes sense if I try and write some swimming inspired poetry. Use one love to talk about another as it were. So here are a couple of rubbish poems I made earlier:


Darling swimming pool

My swimming pool won't moan
if I don't visit her often.
Doesn't get the hump with me
if I just have my fun, shower and leave.
Nor will she dump me if I swim
in other pools behind her back.
But I cant help but think:
I'd much rather have a girlfriend
than a swimming pool.


Stroke

Water surface bulges as arm breaks tension
like a spoon through the skin
of over microwaved custard.
Arm flicks globules of
chlorine soaked water through air
as deep breath is taken into struggling lungs.
Thumb and forefinger pierce water surface,
arms thrusts backwards to propel body forwards
and elbow bends upwards to start the stroke again.  


Channel swimmer

With months, maybe years of training
as protection against exhaustion,
but no guarantee that it will be enough;
the swimmer takes to the water,
tiny trunks but all goosed up in fat.
Is that enough protection
against the cold of the North Sea?
Bad weather? Bad light? Giant waves?
Ships? Sewage? & jellyfish?


I had a dream

I dreamt that you were drowning
I jumped in to save you
Held you tight as I swam
with you in my arms
On the sun drenched poolside
you told me that it was me
not him that you loved
But when I woke
I shed three tears
as I remembered
It was not the water but
my love that suffocated you

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