First swim of winter

It’s officially winter, but did that stop going for a swim today? Absolutely not! Do I need my head looked at? Possibly. Was it cold? You bet it was, but not cold enough to my wife and I off entering the heaving grey Indian Ocean.

So here is a poem about swimming in the Southern Ocean – which is a bloody lot colder than today, although not as cold as the lake in the Cirque de Troumouse in the Pyrenees – that was real spanner water – tightened my nuts in an instant. Anyhow, enough about my attempts to reverse puberty through injudicious swimming in icy water. Here’s the poem.

Swimming in the Southern Ocean

The metronomic waves massaged the beach sands
providing rhythm to thoughts
reminding at regular intervals,
don’t drift to far away,
insistent sometimes,
but every now and then I missed a beat.

The southerly droned on, and on,
just static on which to build
swell dreams.

Do those Antarctic gulls ever wonder
what might be?
Calling out to me, mocking,
hooting with laughter, before floating away.
Why swim in that icy water?

This constant assault, this ridicule
is rather stimulating,
soothing at the same time.
Laugh if you really want to birdbrain,
I’m going back to a comfortable fire
and a silky Lake House merlot.

About George Fripley
I am a writer who enjoys writing humour, satire, poetry and sometimes a bit of philosophy. I live in Perth, Western Australia and occasionally get a poem or article published. It's all good fun! I have two books available for unwary readers, Grudges, Rumours and Drama Queens- The Civil Servant's Manual (This contains all that anybody could ever want to know about why government runs so slowly) and More Gravy Please! - the Politician's Handbook. (available through Amazon)

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