Wet Poets Society book cover Page 55

BUCK DELVENTHAL
San Francisco, California

 

Buck’s Epic Poem

On a cold December’s morning
That winter holds at bay
with wind-borne rain that’s driving
The swimmers come to play

They anticipate the challenge
Of their elemental game
To fight the chilling waters
To make it once again

And though cavort and frolic
Are the theme of each foray
We know she can be evil
Our enigmatic bay

In the darkness of the predawn
In the din of solstice gloom
The waters are cold and turgid
The clouds block out the moon

We slip into the water
And feel its chill embrace
We search for land’s outcroppings
As waves break in our face

And now we face our mother
The source of all our glee
The place where all are equal
Where words speak not for deeds

The cold is all around us
It penetrates our Soul
And thus we toil oblivious
To our body’s warning code

The chill is ever-present
In this cold December air
And so we do not listen
To the warning that is there

He saw another rest point
Through the early morning mist
He lunged and swam to reach it
And he grabbed it with his fist

And now his memory fails him
There is nothing he recalls
Not the hope to keep on living
Or the words to end this clause

And now that fate has cast him
Adrift and floating free
Upon his treasured waters
In his mother’s boundless sea

It is time for a decision
To be or not to be
His will is for survival
It pleads for his reprieve

So those who sit in judgment
Over human destiny
Looked down with kindly favor
As they heard his timeless plea

His spirit took the rostrum
To plead his final cause
To evoke a striking image
To make the judges pause

And with judicious temper
They heard a cogent case
This life must not be wasted
They should bestow their grace

With wisdom and compassion
And a touch of irony
They hold this floating spirit
Should not be left too free

Thus it was decided
They would not call his number
The gift of life he would enjoy
To see another summer

The hope is for a current
A gentle flooding tide
That will give to all the swimmers
An oceanic ride

Instead our bay betrays us
And the weather plays its tricks
We find we move so slowly
As the clock beats out its ticks

Time is now the barrier
As the coldness takes its toll
We have precious fleeting minutes
To make it to the cove

The bets are on the table
The dice gleam black and white
As the legendary reaper
Begins his deadly swipe

And now he faced the moment
He was up against that wall
The water was relentless
It was lapping at his craw

His legs had lost their power
He could hardly move his arms
And for just one fleeting moment
He thought he’d bought the farm

Though cold had numbed his reason
As he rounded muni pier
He knew the tide was ebbing
And his chances were not clear

He had no glimpse of history
Nor his past life in parade
He had one single vision
Of the shore that must be made

And so he kept on struggling
As his body cooled down
He reached a slimy mooring
To rest and look around

And at his next perception
He is in the womb again
A heat that’s all embracing
A warmth beneath the skin

Soon he starts to wonder
At how it came to be
That he rests in gentle slumber
Instead of floating in the sea

It appears there is a Giant
A Dolphin of some fame
An irreverent local artist
Bill Horgos is his name

And then there is a woman
A biologist at her job
She loves to swim bay waters
Her name is Susan Cobb

On this fateful morning
They come to swim the bay
Bill does his double cove
But she coaxes him to stay

And on their second round trip
As they approach the floating flag
It is Susan who first sees him
Afloat but listing bad

Bill comes to the rescue
He pulls him to the land
Susan sprints back to the club
To get a helping hand

Now life takes on new meaning
For this man whom fate has spared
The trilling finch rings clearer
The sunrise does not glare

The face of human failing
The throes of catastrophe
The joy of life revisited
The rush of victory

All these have dimensions
They have contours seldom seen
But to this reborn spirit
It is mystery what they mean

There can be no denying
To whom he owes each day
To Susan’s salty yearnings
To Bill’s eccentric play.


Click for order page

contact us: jim@wetpoetssociety.com

copyright 2007 Wet Poets Society