Category Archives: EFFORT

Kayakers roll over and do it again … swimmers just sink.

“The ocean has always been a salve to my soul…the best thing for a cut or abrasion was to go swimming in salt water. Later down the road of life, I made the discovery that salt water was also good for the mental abrasions one inevitably acquires on land.”   Jimmy Buffett

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THE SWIMMER by Adam Lindsay Gordon (1833 – 1870)

With short, sharp, violent lights made vivid, 
   To southward far as the sight can roam, 
Only the swirl of the surges livid, 
   The seas that climb and the surfs that comb. 
Only the crag and the cliff to nor'ward, 
And the rocks receding, and reefs flung forward, 
And waifs wreck'd seaward and wasted shoreward 
   On shallows sheeted with flaming foam. 

A grim, grey coast and a seaboard ghastly, 
   And shores trod seldom by feet of men -- 
Where the batter'd hull and the broken mast lie, 
   They have lain embedded these long years ten. 
Love! when we wander'd here together, 
Hand in hand through the sparkling weather, 
From the heights and hollows of fern and heather, 
   God surely loved us a little then. 

The skies were fairer and shores were firmer -- 
   The blue sea over the bright sand roll'd; 
Babble and prattle, and ripple and murmur, 
   Sheen of silver and glamour of gold -- 
And the sunset bath'd in the gulf to lend her 
A garland of pinks and of purples tender, 
A tinge of the sun-god's rosy splendour, 
   A tithe of his glories manifold. 

Man's works are graven, cunning, and skilful 
   On earth, where his tabernacles are; 
But the sea is wanton, the sea is wilful, 
   And who shall mend her and who shall mar? 
Shall we carve success or record disaster 
On the bosom of her heaving alabaster? 
Will her purple pulse beat fainter or faster 
   For fallen sparrow or fallen star? 

I would that with sleepy, soft embraces 
   The sea would fold me -- would find me rest, 
In luminous shades of her secret places, 
   In depths where her marvels are manifest; 
So the earth beneath her should not discover 
My hidden couch -- nor the heaven above her -- 
As a strong love shielding a weary lover, 
   I would have her shield me with shining breast. 

When light in the realms of space lay hidden, 
   When life was yet in the womb of time, 
Ere flesh was fettered to fruits forbidden, 
   And souls were wedded to care and crime, 
Was the course foreshaped for the future spirit -- 
A burden of folly, a void of merit -- 
That would fain the wisdom of stars inherit, 
   And cannot fathom the seas sublime? 

Under the sea or the soil (what matter? 
   The sea and the soil are under the sun), 
As in the former days in the latter, 
   The sleeping or waking is known of none. 
Surely the sleeper shall not awaken 
To griefs forgotten or joys forsaken, 
For the price of all things given and taken, 
   The sum of all things done and undone. 

Shall we count offences or coin excuses, 
   Or weigh with scales the soul of a man, 
Whom a strong hand binds and a sure hand looses, 
   Whose light is a spark and his life a span? 
The seed he sow'd or the soil he cumber'd, 
The time he served or the space he slumber'd, 
Will it profit a man when his days are number'd, 
   Or his deeds since the days of his life began? 

One, glad because of the light, saith, "Shall not 
   The righteous Judge of all the earth do right, 
For behold the sparrows on the house-tops fall not 
   Save as seemeth to Him good in His sight?" 
And this man's joy shall have no abiding, 
Through lights departing and lives dividing, 
He is soon as one in the darkness hiding, 
   One loving darkness rather than light. 

A little season of love and laughter, 
   Of light and life, and pleasure and pain, 
And a horror of outer darkness after, 
   And dust returneth to dust again. 
Then the lesser life shall be as the greater, 
And the lover of life shall join the hater, 
And the one thing cometh sooner or later, 
   And no one knoweth the loss or gain. 

Love of my life! we had lights in season -- 
   Hard to part from, harder to keep -- 
We had strength to labour and souls to reason, 
   And seed to scatter and fruits to reap. 
Though time estranges and fate disperses, 
We have had our loves and our loving mercies; 
Though the gifts of the light in the end are curses, 
   Yet bides the gift of the darkness -- sleep! 

See! girt with tempest and wing'd with thunder, 
   And clad with lightning and shod with sleet, 
The strong winds treading the swift waves sunder 
   The flying rollers with frothy feet. 
One gleam like a bloodshot sword-blade swims on 
The sky-line, staining the green gulf crimson, 
A death stroke fiercely dealt by a dim sun, 
   That strikes through his stormy winding-sheet. 

Oh! brave white horses! you gather and gallop, 
   The storm sprite loosens the gusty reins; 
Now the stoutest ship were the frailest shallop 
   In your hollow backs, or your high arch'd manes. 
I would ride as never a man has ridden 
In your sleepy, swirling surges hidden, 
To gulfs foreshadow'd through straits forbidden, 
   Where no light wearies and no love wanes.

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Lee Emmett, Australia
SWIMMERS’ STROKES (Alliterative Onomatopoeia)

silently slipstreaming, Simon’s swim
huffing heavily Harry hurries him
Pete plods, pants, pushes, paddles past
Luke languidly lashes, lumbering last

spluttering Stevie sideways strokes
Barry backstrokes, beating blokes
sniggering Stevie swishes, splash
Davey darts, dodges during dash

wallowing waves wash white water
anaphylactic, aching arteries and aorta
swirling subterranean swimmer surfs
stonkered Stevie sinks, Simon swerves

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Three comforts of old age: fire, tea and tobacco. Welsh

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“It is so very easy and so very pleasant, too, to read only books which lead to nothing, light and interesting books, and the more the better, that it is almost as difficult to wean ourselves from it as from the habit of chewing tobacco to excess, or of smoking the whole time, or of depending for stimulus upon tea or coffee or spirits.”

― Charles Francis Adams

Great Faith. Great Doubt. Great Effort. – The three qualities necessary for training.

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“If you are a dreamer come in
If you are a dreamer a wisher a liar
A hoper a pray-er a magic-bean-buyer
If youre a pretender com sit by my fire
For we have some flax golden tales to spin
Come in!
Come in!”

― Shel Silverstein