A poem a week for a year. |
Cold Water Thoughts The British Isles, being on the same latitude as Labrador, would be frozen wastes were it not for the Gulf Stream, a supposedly warm ocean current that bathes their shores and creates a climate known as temperate, meaning it has few of the extreme tantrums common to the new world, preferring a moderate view of all things, including temperature. Being of a geographical disposition of mind and aware of such pontification upon the weather of the islands, I greeted the North Atlantic with the same carefree joy remembered from my days spent near the Indian version, only to discover that immersing oneself in these northern waters is not a matter to be essayed with innocent abandon, there being a tendency to freeze to the marrow a body, human or, I presume, otherwise, leading to a certain cynicism regarding the naming skills of those geographers responsible for the title granted our surrounding seas and currents. Experience is a great teacher and these days I still enter the waters, but only as deep as my ankles, emerging after a few minutes with feet blue with shock and toes as numb (and cold) as yesterday’s french fries. As Einstein would say, “Warm” is a relative term. Line Count: 25 Free (very) Verse For Promptly Poetry, Week 22 Prompt: Cold water. Notes: This alleged poem is experimental, part of a current drive I have to extend the length of my lines in poetry. Because, like Everest, it’s possible. Some might remark, with reason, that the result is more prose than poetry and they may be right. My only excuse is that it’s the best way I know to express my feelings regarding cold water. And feeling, surely, is fundamental to poetry. |