My Tender Waves

Very recently I spent a day at the Pensacola Beach with my grandchildren, Graicyn, Knighten, and Phanton, whom I have never met before. I can’t imagine any more words added to this introduction could help you have a better understanding of the emotion that inspired this poem.



My Tender Waves

Fathoms, Fathoms, waves break the sandy shore,
Crystal clear to blue to green,
As they did 10,000 years before.

Priding themselves as frothy acrobats,
twisting an opaline sheen
then rolling slowly to liquid mattes.

And others themselves quite definitely shy,
inconspicuously atween
the roaring waves so high.

Those are mine, I should think of all
the waves I have seen,
the whitecaps, the smoothies, the tall;

It’s the shy ones hiding amidst the surf
to make a beautiful scene
with their incremental kerf.

If you chance upon the gulf to play,
on any given blue or grey day,
and you find the waves hiding away,
please know I have already been.
And if your thoughts should ever come to weigh
the chance of claiming that wave astray,
then I should just obligingly say,
you may have it as philipeen.

For you can never own a wave, nor anything
other than a moment, you see.
And that’s why I shall always sing
of grandkids in those waves with me.

So the waves I gladly offer you and pray
those moments with the kids shall ever stay,
knowing timid waves can’t wash them away.

For that’s the reason, my dear friend,
as the moments live forever,
that waves begin and never end.




© 2011 John Richter

About johnallenrichter

I am an aspiring Poet and adorer of life, a conqueror of nothing. However I am a champion curator of truth and friendship and hold both of those things most dearly to my heart. Welcome to my mind's eye. I hope you will enjoy what you may find and please know that you have a friend here. View all posts by johnallenrichter

4 responses to “My Tender Waves

  • Jamie Dedes

    John, this is very dear. Lovely poem and lovely visions it brings to mind. The emotions are ones to which we can relate.

    • johnallenrichter

      Thank you. This poem is one that will be a work in progress though, I’m afraid. A friend told me the other day that a problem is sometimes best solved when you walk away from it and let your frustration fade away. Then when you return to it you have a whole new, fresh vision and the problem seems to solve itself. Of course at the time we were speaking of his frustration over the inability to fix his outdoor dining table. My suggestion was to break out the blow torch and reduce the table to a molten glob of steel. It doesn’t really fix the problem, but it does fix the frustration…. It’s a guy thing, Jamie, as is standing over the glob and yelling “I told you so!” Poetry is sort of like that, but we become too attached to our poems to flame them. They are like our children…. occasionally primp and preen them, give them a little love and a little encouragement, and they will almost always turn into something that we are proud of….

  • oceangirl

    This is too beautiful and your grandchildren are beautiful.

    No one can own the waves, the waves begin and never end. The waves tantalize and teach us to be faithful.

  • Mary

    You’re right…waves never begin or end. They live on. (What precious grandchildren!)

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