POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.


July 5thWrite a swimming poem. You can focus on a certain stroke, or type of swimmer. Use your powers of observation and find an interesting slant on the process of swimming.



July 4 – Fireworks on the Lake

July 3 – A Day at the Beach (Abstract Poem)

July 2 – A Deserted Beach

July 1 – ALOHA! (HELLO)

Single Post Navigation

125 thoughts on “LIFE IS A BEACH – IN THE SWIM

  1. William Preston on said:


    Swimmingly, Swanson would swim with a shark,
    the stupidest thing for a swimmer to do,
    for the shark has evolved to be master of waters
    and swimmers? Beginners! Their tools are too few,
    and the shark is much stronger and certainly faster;
    in stark confrontation the shark is the master.
    So Swanson is lost, his ghost is the stark
    reminder that swimmers shan’t swim with a shark.

    copyright 2013, William Preston

  2. Henrietta Choplin on said:


    Calming waters,

  3. DebiSwim on said:

    Nice observation William. I hadn’t seen that. Lovely Henrietta!

  4. DebiSwim on said:

    I Can Swim

    Granny look.
    I can swim,
    Watch me.
    Are you watching?
    And he jumped
    in the deep end
    and went down, down, down
    and I stood up
    ready to dive
    heart in my throat
    then he started up
    and bobbed to the top.
    He swam to me
    so proud
    of his choppy
    dog paddle.


    Chocolate Labrador with striking eyes,
    yelps and cries at the sound of freedom.
    Fireworks alerting, unnerving
    sending Buddy scurrying.
    Hurrying past the pool skittering
    on the wet pavement sliding
    in full stride into the water
    paddling to the other side to hide
    in his kennel. Sneaking peeks
    when the lull echoes. Venturing
    bravely past the deck chairs
    to be startled again by a barrage
    sending him back for another swim.

  6. Blooop

    By David De Jong

    I Swim
    A Rock

  7. Finally Swimming

    She’d sat on the edge of the pool,
    feet dangling, sun tan lotion
    slathered on the bare skin,
    but she never wet her face,
    her hair. Her fear—or phobia—
    reinforced by swim instructors,
    just teens themselves, older Scouts
    impatient with her self-doubt,
    had sidelined her for ages.
    No, I’m fine, she’d reassure
    friends in the deep end, diving
    off the high board, all squeals
    and laughter. For the beach,
    she packed a hat, a book,
    content—she claimed—
    to watch. A three-year-old
    was all it took to lure her in,
    first knee deep, then waist,
    and finally head under water.
    Swimming lessons—at her age—
    freed her to serve as lifeguard,
    playmate, pool toy, to swimmers
    barely big as tadpoles or minnows
    who love to call her Grandma.

  8. His Paddling Ways

    When he was four,
    he adored doggy paddles,
    little soggy waggles
    of his pudgy little hands.
    He’d claw at the water,
    paw at the waves,
    and off he’d go
    so proud
    of his doggy paddle ways.

  9. Pingback: His Paddling Ways | The Chalk Hills Journal

  10. connielpeters on said:

    Not Drowning but Waving
    (from Stevie Smith’s Not Waving But Drowning)

    Everybody watched the swimmer
    Splashing, kicking, playing
    They held their breath as he flailed about
    And not drowning but waving

    He made things appear difficult
    But he survives
    They pulled him out despite his shout he was okay
    He thrives

    Oh, yes, yes, yes, he’s gangly and awkward
    Adventurously playing
    He’s not one to make things look easy
    And not drowning but waving

  11. In The Womb

    Like flying, it is,
    my weighless body
    without the support
    of solid ground,
    water lapping in my ears.
    I don’t move a muscle,
    have a thought
    or give a damn.
    I return to the water
    from which I came
    and am once again

  12. Me and H2O
    Are uncomfortable partners
    Never learned to swim

  13. ejparsons on said:


    It would appear
    That while setting on the beach
    Watching my children have so much fun
    With each other
    And their boogie boards
    And my mermaid-like wife
    That the fish gene
    Must have skipped a generation
    At least on my side of the family

    © 2013 Earl Parsons

  14. William Preston on said:


    There once was a marathon swimmer
    who swam with a swish and a shimmer.
    This elite Lithuanian
    crossed the Mediterranean
    and ended up wrinkled and trimmer.

    copyright 2013, William Preston

  15. Pingback: Savory Stroke | Metaphors and Smiles

  16. Savory Stroke
    Eyes to sky,
    back beholden,
    held by salty surface;
    sparkling skin of sea.
    With ears submerged
    and soul attuned
    to a hopeful hollow call;
    I’m wishfully waiting
    for the whale’s emotive song.
    Cupped hands plan each pull,
    like windmill arms moved by wind
    my flesh and bone extensions
    await energetic gifts given
    with each sweep of this deep-
    I’m stroked of this green apple ocean.
    My grateful body glides as a human canoe
    navigating this blissful tide,
    I ride this aquatic rift-
    rapt of this gap and gasp of grace
    till toes are called,
    to meet soil and earth;
    bonded again to ground
    turned to shore fresh,
    I’m found and made whole
    by this magical merging,
    this timeless motion.
    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013

  17. Life’s a Beach; In the Swim

    My slow crawl from the beach, the breast stroke. My swim; a perfect day without a youthful care.
    But suddenly, I’m too far out; awakened from my swimming daydream! Skimming over salty water rolling arms now grab; awaken. From my swimming daydream quaking…catching up! Now calm yourself
    and without panic. Salty lips; no rushing antics! I know you’ve strength to make it back. I cannot see the lifeguard’s shack! And, no ones sees the fear inside. My doggy paddle tires my feet. A slow pull; now. It is not easy! Just take it; take it; take it easy! A slow pull; I know you can make it. The legs are shaking; heart is quaking. Slow now; stretch and float awhile. My teenage body in good shape. There is no need to fall apart. But now an apples in my throat_I must remove it or I’ll choke! And I hear pounding of a heart. And far below my feet is gleaming sand; yes touching now the goal for me as I have drifted far, far out from land. Now, floating for a lifetime seems to be and breaststroke is my gambol with this sea. Remembered is the moment when my feet began to touch my mother, sand. A walk on wobbled, weak-kneed, shaky, step-by-step like feet as, infant, I am born, again, from out the sea.

    (This really did happen to me. I never forgot and never tried it again,lol)

  18. Swimmer

    She felt a
    Surge of power coarse
    Around her;
    As she pushed
    Herself through the clear water,
    She and it were one.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

    This is just a quick little thing as today is pretty hectic. Hopefully I can come back with something longer later on. 🙂

  19. William Preston on said:


    For me,
    is being in the sea
    when one sees the Slithergadee

    copyright 2013, William Preston

  20. William Preston on said:


    swimming on sand.

    copyright 2013, William Preston

  21. janeshlensky on said:


    Marco Polo is confined to pools
    where children skitter here and there,
    restless among drowsy readers and
    sun-worshippers, echoing, slogging through
    water as if they ride camels overland on sandy
    dunes, swirling like endless burning drifts.

    The real adventurers take to sea
    slapped by waves, come crashing down,
    diving beneath those curling fists
    out past the breakers, where they ride
    the dips and swells, paddling like ducks,
    floating on salt, kicking in lazy backstrokes.

    • William Preston on said:

      Such a wonderful piece, proffering images galore. Oddly enough, this recalls for me a scene at Cape Flattery, Washington, where the Pacific and the Strait of Juan de Fuca meet. There I was fascinated to watch some seabirds cavort in the swirl where the waters met, while others found sheltered lees and stayed there.

  22. Sink or

    whim your way into some
    (w)hole where you might hold
    your breath
    forever, weather these bold
    strokes, this slow crawl,
    those butterflies. Dive deep,
    but don’t lose sleep over any
    thing remote. Remember,
    pain kicks,
    hope glides; sorrow



  23. Pingback: Sink or | Whimsygizmo's Blog

  24. William Preston on said:

    Such a wonderful piece, proffering images galore. Oddly enough, this recalls for me a scene at Cape Flattery, Washington, where the Pacific and the Strait of Juan de Fuca meet. There I was fascinated to watch some seabirds cavort in the swirl where the waters met, while others found sheltered lees and stayed there.

  25. janeshlensky on said:


    From the time my father tossed me
    in the pond behind the house
    waiting long enough to see if
    I would drown or get to shore,

    I have found that water buoys me up
    and holds my mass aloft,
    that I’ll float if I have patience,
    that I’ll tread water and move,

    that my arms and hands will push and pull,
    my legs and feet will kick,
    and my spine will arch, my lungs grab air
    as natural as breath.

    Later, when I got fancy,
    I could name the kicks and strokes,
    lapping crawlers with a butterfly
    or diving from the board.

    In swimming dreams, I flew above
    the water line and sped along,
    only fear of watery death heavy enough
    to anchor me to sense and care.

    • William Preston on said:

      Such superb description. Everything felt relaxed and serene until the :fear of watery death” line, which did have an anchoring effect for me. Another fine job, Jane. Thanks for posting.

    • actually, I came from a place where country people DID throw you in to see if you would sink or swim… I suppose they would have pulled us out if we did not, lol… but for some young ‘uns, it was the
      beginning and end of their loving the water…

      • janeshlensky on said:

        Thanks, friends. JC, we must have been neighbors;). That young’un who gave up on water would have been my sister. And I drank a good bit of the pond before I got to shore…lol

  26. Wave Riders

    for a wave
    to catch
    first with their eye,
    then with their bodies;
    riding the wave
    always coming back to me.

  27. Super busy, but it’s all good. This is a little one I wrote for a big kid a while back. 😉

    There once was an otter
    Who didn’t like water
    And hadn’t yet learned how to swim.
    But then she met Trotter
    Who willingly taught her
    And now she is swimmin’ with him.

  28. Life Of A Swimmer

    I see him in each phase
    of his life.
    Young man diving off board,
    smooth, muscular.
    Adult teaching me to swim,
    cupped hands, kicking feet.
    Older man, doing underwater laps
    back and forth.
    Elderly man, plagued by angina,
    arthritic joints,
    gliding through water
    butterfly stroke
    so fragile.

  29. Pingback: Testing The Waters | echoes from the silence


      The deep end:
      memories of near drowning.
      The shallow end:
      being mocked for caution.
      Do I dip my toe in?
      Or jump in, both feet?
      I must decide.

      P. Wanken

  30. The Heat Is On

    dive, surface
    stroke, stroke, stroke, turn, breathe
    stroke, stroke, stroke,
    stroke, turn, breathe
    stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, flip, push
    kicking like crazy

    stroke, turn, breathe
    stroke, stroke, stroke, turn, breathe
    stroke, stroke, stroke,
    stroke, turn, breathe
    stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stretch, touch
    breathe, breathe, check time, smile

  31. Marjory MT on said:

    Step into the salty tide,
    Waves ebb and flow up my,
    then, I dive and start to swim.

    The day is fresh and sunny,
    the ocean beckons me, come
    step into the salty tide.

    Gingerly, I brave the serf
    and feel beneath me sand as
    waves ebb and flow up my legs.

    Deeper the water becomes,
    its chill refreshing ‘neath the sun,
    then, I dive and start to swim.

  32. It’s Sara’s Catch up Time

    Crawling Towards Peace

    Stroke by stroke
    Lift right elbow
    Cup hand
    Reach, slice down
    Push through
    Turn other cheek
    Exhale, inhale
    Raise left elbow

Plant your poem or comment here!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: