Sunday Surf Poem: Surfers by Deb Jones

Deborah Jones from California, who wrote “Surfers,” says that her writings are typically confessional poetry. But despite my best efforts to contact her and establish whether she’s a surfer or non-surfer, this question remains unanswered. To me, this means you can read this poem in two different ways.

Surfers

I stood on the pier and watched the ocean
The waves crashing unto the shore

The kids and dogs playing in the surf
The distant sounds of laughter
carried on the wind…

And the surfers almost below me

The way they tracked the waves
While straddling their boards

Watching the waves build

Pushing the tip of their board down
To dive under them like seals

Waiting for the one they will ride to shore

So isolated from each other

So solitary in their sport

I wondered, do they think about anything important?
Ponder anything heavy?

Or do they just wait for the next wave?

And the only decision they have to make

Is whether to dive under it
Or let the tip of the board rise

Above the crest of the wave
And ride it

When your thoughts are in another place or time,
Your actions lose much of their effectiveness.

I think surfers must be in the moment
Only thinking about the next wave

And the possibility that it
Will be the one worth riding

And maybe a brief moment of regret
That the one they just let pass

May have been an opportunity

But just a brief and fleeting thought….

Because the next wave is already approaching