Posts Tagged ‘ SOLITUDE ’

SHE DANCES ACROSS THE PACIFIC WATERS

THE HUMAN RACE

 

A WOMAN TO BEHOLD

From her euphoric whispers

come a redolent breath

that blinds the senses

evoking intimate thoughts.

 

As she moves across

the Pacific waters

stirring the tides,

the sea rolls in ecstasy.

 

The swells become waves

crowned by crests as

crispy white as stars

in the blackest night.

 

At day’s early light,

they dance endlessly

raising their mighty arms

in graceful pirouettes.

 

Boots LeBaron

 

BOTSWANA: A PARADISE FAR FROM THE HUMAN JUNGLE

THE HUMAN RACE

BOTSWANA: A HALF-A-WORLD-AWAY

 

I sit on the veranda

a half-a-world-away

watching the golden sun

in its last breath of day

filter through silhouetted leaves

of the ebony and acacia trees,

then quickly fall beneath

the silent Chobe River

leaving nothing but stars

guarding Venus

and her lantern moon.

And not too soon,

I marvel at the distance

I’ve traveled to get

where thoughts run free,

a half-a-world-away

from what is home to me.

To reach this

untamed place,

was such a human race.

After an eternity of soaring

on man-made wings,

I found this hideaway

where elephants

rule as kings.

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Where lions make love

for hours on end,

where pythons

coil, constrict and bend.

Giant Tuskers trumpet

and hippos bellow

in this

wild-animal bordello.

Leopards hunt,

warthogs grunt.

Zebra,  giraffe,

Cape buffalo,

they all play host

on this fertile land  

that has no coast.  

As eagles work the breeze,

scores of vultures

perch high

on limbs of trees.

Mosquitoes sting.

Myriad birds sing

in glorious cacophony.

They hoot and caw and chirp

in their inimitable

high-pitched harmony.

Crickets

tuned just right

play their

Stradivarius legs

throughout the night.

For those who must return

to their civilized encampment,

where plastic reigns

and torment gains,

Botswana is

enchantment.

A visit

permits a glimpse

at secrets we’ve been

blind to.

A moment just to ponder

was well worth

the wander.

Flying half way

round the world

aboard a 747,

proved to me,

at least:

It takes time

to get to heaven.

 

Boots LeBaron

 

(Overlooking the Chobe River,

a tributary of the Zambezi River

in southern Africa’s Botswana)

 

A WINTER STORM THAT ENLIGHTENS EVERY SOUL

THE HUMAN RACE

WINTER’S DECEMBER RAIN

I awoke to

the downpour

a  winter’s rain.

Its light fingers

swept across the roof,

then spanked the streets.

Water spilled  

from the eves

rustling the leaves,

pelting the tin shed.

Thunder punctuated the

night like deafening

cymbals turning the

curtain of tumbling tears

into a whispering chorus.

The concert  was free

for those who listened

in respectful solitude.

The sounds alerted the

senses singing that

existence was far more

than a pleasant dream.

It was a wondrous symphony

preserved in our hearts.

The indisputable lesson

would never die and

forever live for

 the mind to ponder.

 

Boots LeBaron

(Boots’ book, THE HUMAN RACE, contains

inspirational and humorous human interest

stories, essays and poetry about life, death,

romance, courage, art, etc.  It’s available on

Kindle and in paperback on Amazon)

THE LAUNDROMAT: A PLACE TO TWIDDLE LIFE AWAY!

THE HUMAN RACE

 NEED TO STRETCH YOUR FANTASIZING BUTTON? 

VISIT YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD LAUNDROMAT.

 

Sitting in the laundromat

watching the Speed Queen

tumble-dry your clothes

is an excruciating thing.

You could spend time gawking

at scrumptious honeys,

or occupy the boring minutes

twiddling your thumbies.

Play a game of solitaire,

if by chance you have a deck.

Waiting for clothes to dry

is one monotonous trek.

 If you’re the type of guy

who can slip into a trance,

a visit to Laundry Land might

allow your thoughts to dance.

 You could become a movie star

or perhaps a pool hall champ,

win an Oscar, be a lover,

or massage Aladdin’s lamp.

 But if you enjoy the tedious

buzz of laundromat machines,

somewhere in your ancestry

there’s mutilated genes.

 

Boots LeBaron

(Boots’ current book, “THE HUMAN RACE,” is available

on Kindle and in paperback on Amazon.  It features

light poetry, essays and human interest stories.)

SURFBOARDER/ARTIST’S VIEW OF LIFE

THE HUMAN RACE

                                      SURFBOARDER-ARTIST’S GLIMPSE AT LIFE

 

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                                                                                                   A Craig Cambra original           

     The lone surfer, a young man in black trunks, straddled the shortboard looking out to sea, waiting for a wave at 15th Street in Manhattan Beach, Calif. It was going to be another hot Tuesday in August.

     As it is today, the world was in turmoil. Bad news was everywhere. The O.J. Simpson double homicide, the Whitewater mess, the Rwanda refugee crisis, the bloody turf conflict in Bosnia-Herzegovina, the AIDS dilemma, drive-by shootings, suicide terrorists…

     At the time, Craig Cambra, a promising young artist, sat on his board unperturbed. The water was refreshingly cool on that early overcast morning. In fact, the 25-year-old graphic designer and fine artist left all the news and personal woes on shore with the rest of the city which was just beginning to stir.

     For Craig, there was more important things than politics and catastrophes on his mind. For example: The wedge. It was breaking just right. And he was in the perfect spot to catch it. He began paddling. Harder. Faster. Harder. Into the foam. Up on his feet. God, what a feeling. There was no describing it.

     The wave belonged to him. He was on top of it. He caught a right, pulled into a bottom turn, smacked the wave straight up… And bam! He threw the tail, slid with the crest of the wave, reversed, executed another bottom turn, then another and another until the wave pooped out.    

     As he paddled back out to sea, the muscles in his arms, shoulders and chest were tight. The thighs and calves ached just enough to tell him that the muscles and tendons did their job. His heart was pounding in his neck. For a surfer, it was a great feeling. It had been what he had described as “a good ride.”

    As he balanced on his 6-foot-2 board, manipulating the power of the breakers, Craig Cambra’s paradise was licking at his feet, propelling him through the water like a wild, untamed force compliments of the Pacific Ocean and Mother Nature.

     Despite politics and escalating global perils, the sinewy young dude’s world beneath him was clean and fresh and exhilarating.

     To a non-surfer, there’s no describing the experience of catching a “wedge” or a “peak,” harnessing the power, and “ripping away” from start to finish.

     “You’re just amped,” he explained. “It’s like a movie. You’re thinking about it as you leave, remembering all the surprises, and you go, ‘God, that was great!’ People who don’t surf can’t comprehend the exaltation you experience. Lots of people try to compare other sports to surfing. You can’t. Every ride, every wave is different.”

     During that watery moment, for Craig at least, there was nothing more in life than riding out a wave. Nothing. No problems. No gridlock. No bills. No heartaches. No anxieties.  

     In other words, for a surfboarder whose father died when he was three, who was raised by his mother, Nora, and whose older brothers, Rick and Phil “took my father’s place and did the best they could with a rowdy like me,” King Neptune was his psychiatrist.

     When he was 12-years-old, his oldest brother, Phil, loaded the youngster and an old 7-ft. Kanoa surfboard in his car and took him to 15th Street.

     “At the time,” recalled Craig, “I was scared. The waves looked awful big. He put me on the board, walked me out to the midbreak, turned me around and shoved me into the whitewash.

     “The hardest thing about catching a wave,” he said, “is learning to balance and stroking. I stood up, fell, stood up, fell.” He laughed. “When I finally rode one, I was on my own.”

     Ever since the first lesson, he has been surfing. And in recent years, surfing alone.

     “For me,” he said smiling, “it beats psychiatry all to hell. I mean, you wake up and the sun is shining. Rather than stare at the ceiling, you grab your board and head for the beach. There’s no one else around. You catch a few fun waves. When you get out of the water, you’ve had a good workout. You know you’ve done something for your body and your mind.”

     As he sat on his board waiting for King Neptune to blow a wave his way, he saw the world from a different vantage point than the people preparing themselves for life on the job in the city.

     “Every day when I’m out there, I can look out at the horizon. The sky is never the same. Gray, black, blue, speckled with clouds, it’s always beautiful and never the same.

     “I usually surf on week days — that’s when everybody else is making money,” said the free-lance graphic designer and fine artist who graduated in May from California State University, Long Beach, with a degree in (what else?) art.

     “Almost every time I go into the water, I see schools of porpoise, sometimes as many as 40. I’ve never seen a shark in these waters (like the great white that attacked a swimmer off the Manhattan Beach Pier in July 2014). But I’d recognize one if I saw one. As they move, their dorsal fin cuts across the water while the fin of a porpoise rises and falls.

     “Believe me,” he went on, “if I spotted a shark fin, I’d be outta there so fast you’d hear a sonic boom.”

     Pelicans, he said, are frightening birds. They are huge and powerful. One time while I was surfing in Malibu, one got hung up in my cinch line. It came after me like a dive bomber. Maybe he thought I was a big sardine.”

     Ordinarily, he said, “pelicans will gain altitude and dive, splashing into the water after a meal. Then they’ll bob to the surface with their breakfast in their pouch. Awkwardly, they’ll take off, flapping those giant wings.   Then awkwardly with a considerable amount of effort will take off, gain altitude and soon will be of sight.

     “Pelicans like sea gulls can’t surf but they can’t love this ocean more than I do,” said the graphic designer-artist-surfboarder who’s now an expert on all three arts.

 

                        — Boots LeBaron —

 

(Boots’ book, THE HUMAN RACE, is available

on Kindle and in paperback on Amazon.com)

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