(I somehow lost my post in the middle of reviewing it--sorry if this ends up posted twice! Now let's see if I can remember what I wrote.)
I was talking with a friend about swimming and she said she started "swimming for life" x number of years ago. I got the sense that she meant that it was more than a good workout--it kept her "alive." I have to admit that it has that kind of effect for me, too. At the risk of sounding too new-agey, it's nourishing in more than a physical sense.
What does swimming mean to you? How does that compare to other sports or activities you do? How does that meaning influence your goals and performance?
Former Member
Hooray for my favorite thread coming back!!!!!!:banana: :wiggle: :hug: :woot: :applaud: :groovy: :smooch:
Now I'm motivated to try and write a new poem.........:coffee:
Here's another. It's called "Stacy at the Back" to the cadence of the famous poem "Casey at Bat." All names have been changed to protect the innocent. All events are purely fictional, of course.
STACY AT BACK
The outlook wasn’t brilliant for young Curl-Burke that meet.
The score was lopsided with three events left to compete.
And then when Sally died at fly, and Sandy cramped up too,
A pall-like silence fell upon swimmers not in the loo.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to the hope which always beats in teammates’ breasts:
They thought, “If only Stacy could go on the attack?
We’d put up money, now, with Stacy at the back."
But Sue preceded Stacy, as did small Cindy McFurn.
The former lost her goggles and the latter missed a turn.
So upon the stricken Curl Burke team frowns all recurred.
For there seemed but little chance a team win could be secured.
But Sue burst forth in sprint, to the wonderment of all,
And McFurn, the power house, tore the touch pad off the wall;
And when the wake had settled and all saw what had occurred,
There was Cindy safe in second place and Sue securing third.
Then from fifty throats and more there rose a lusty cheer.
It rumbled through the locker room, it rattled masters near.
It pounded on the bleacher seats and silenced all who mocked.
For Stacy, mighty Stacy, was advancing to the block.
There was ease in Stacy’s manner as she jumped into the pool.
There was pride in Stacy’s bearing and an aura mighty cool.
And, when responding to the cheers, she lightly tossed her cap.
No swimmer in the crowd could doubt ‘twas Stacy at the back.
Fifty eyes were upon her as she placed her feet to go.
Fifty tongues were a waggin’ when too high was her toe.
Then while the plucky starter raised his gun to start the race.
Defiance flashed in Stacy’s eyes, a sneer marred her pretty face.
And when the sound resounded, it came hurtling through the air.
But then another sound came too; there was a false start there.
Stacy claimed she was not moving, she was steady as the dead.
“That ain’t my style,” claimed Stacy, “False start,” the ref still said.
From the benches, black with fastskins, there came a muffled roar.
Came the screeching of the dolphins from every bench and door.
“DQ her! DQ her!” shouted swim fans from the stand.
And he really should have done it, but the ref just raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity, the ref’s visage shown;
He stilled the amateur officials; he bade the race go on.
He signaled to the starter, and once more the gun blew.
But someone else went early, so the ref just said “That’s two.”
“Fraud!” cried the maddened Curl Burke fans. And echo answered
“fraud.”
But one scornful look from Stacy and the audience was awed.
They saw her face grown stern and cold and they saw her muscles
strain.
And then they knew that the back start would not go awry again.
The sneer is gone from Stacy’s face, her teeth begin to chatter.
But Stacy thought, erroneously, that none of that would matter.
And now the starter holds the gun, a beating in his heart.
And now the air is shattered by the force of Stacy’s start.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright.
The band is playing somewhere and Terrapin hearts are light.
And somewhere flyers are laughing in near cardiac arrest.
For Stacy, mighty Stacy, has gone past vertical toward the ***.
Poor Stacy suffered DQ defeat, her secret rival won.
The other teams relieved, other swimmers back to fun.
They all know everyone may once bear a reddened face.
They can only hope to never be embarrassed in mid-race.
Regarding the dispute between butterflyers and butterfroggers:
The Fly and the Frog
The Fly and the Frog went to battle
On a cantankerous masters’ thread.
The opposite of honey, it was nonetheless funny.
Bickering ‘til almost dead.
The Fly averred Frog swam extremely odd,
and refused his pure stroke to mar:
“Oh, Ugly Frog, O Ugly Frog, my god,
What an ugly frog you are.
You are.
You are.
What an Ugly Frog you are.”
Frog cursed at the Fly, “I’ll spit in your eye.
How vicious you are when you sting.
O let us co-exist. How can you resist?
It tis the only right thing.”
They argued away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Dictator led.
There, smelling a rat, the Dictator sat
With a crown perched on his head.
His head.
His head.
With a crown perched on his head.
Fly asked, “ Are you willing to sell for one shilling,
Your rule? Said the D, “I will.”
“Wait,” the Frog said, “I will surely be dead.
If that new fly you make me swim.”
So they dined on stew and some GU gels too.
Which they ate with a breaststroke fin.
And, hand in hand, by the edge of the sand
They raced to see who would win.
Who would win.
Who would win.
They raced to see who would win.
They raced to a dead heat, fly-frogging a beat.
How lyrically smooth each swam.
“Oh let us not wish; you both are rare fish.”
The Dictator said like a lamb.
They sailed back to the pool, to embrace an old rule.
To the land of the hard-headed mule.
With the crown on his head, the Dictator said.
In the pool, you‘ve both won a place.
A place.
A place.%3
I once met an ex-cop named Cruise.
Purple prose was his choice to amuse.
Newmasters shot back,
With a counter-attack.
The verbiage left posters confused.
Yeah, our favorite old thread is back on top!
Our creativity will not stop!
My inspiration is a little low.
Off to the pool I must go!
Welcome new poets!
Swimmy :)
For SwimStud:
There once was a Brit Buoy named Rich.
Whose wit caused many a stitch.
Born to do ***,
He taunted the rest,
By asserting the fly they should ditch.
Then came the FlyQueen and Fort.
They decided to commit a real tort.
So they libeled the Stud,
As a stick in the mud.
And his nickname he had to abort.
retaliation limerick posted by the fortress
Ha Ha....Nice retaliation limerick Fort!..... Maybe the new postings on this thread will stir up a little more activity (and creative expression) around here. Who knows I might even give it a go before too long...LOL!
Newmastersswimmer
Who knows I might even give it a go before too long...LOL!
Newmastersswimmer
Do it Jim Do it!! You have lovely poems! I'm working on something right now.....trying to get inspired.......
For IslandSox
There once was a lady called Donna,
Who for some time from the forum was gone-a,
Cos the electic was broke,
So she swigged rum 'n' coke,
But lord knows we all missed her a ton-a!
:hug:
