Wavy Gravy Soliton Wave-Amplifiers Converge The shadow is but the memory of the eternal light, An aimless wave gently reborn yet again mid ocean, Going nowhere, still it somehow traverses the earth, Encompassing nothing, while embracing everything, Rogue waves making any roller coaster look tame, Wavy Gravy Soliton Wave-Amplifiers all converge, Arousing ancient memories of heroic adventures! Unchained Prometheus always full of surprises, Chasing dolphins while hurling into the wind, Anxiously Begs for the approval of all, Surrendering to those who delight in their ignorance! Outcasts and rejects thrilled to soar free at last, Content smiles spread on the still rising wind. Sails fluttering, in synchrony with the breeze, Sensual embrace, reawakens the dreamers. Silent revere of the perfect moment of grace, The slightest sigh of relief, whispering water, Castaways, become one with new horizons.
This little poem is based on a famous poem known as Castaways, but half of it is stuff I just spontaneously made up and slapped together. Castaways is a romantic Zen style poem in the Big Sky tradition of both cowboy poetry and sailing poetry with Paul McCartney's music and quantum chromodynamics providing other good examples of the same emphasis on wave dynamics. A soliton wave is a type of standing wave that can stand perfectly still mid ocean or travel around without loosing any amplitude, while a rogue wave is an enormous wave of this type that emerges spontaneously in certain parts of the ocean such as off the coast of South Africa. This version of the more romantic Zen poem alludes to the fact a wave and an amplifier can be considered the same thing because every wave can amplify or normalize another wave and, here, the image is of a person sailing throwing up "hurling into the wind" as they heroically become one with the horizon itself on their adventurous way to nowhere.
And a touch of gravy as well...Wavy Gravy Indeed! Blessings unto you for the poetry morning as it pours outside.
I live in Seattle where God spits on us for weeks on end and the sun seldom shines. Where fungi grow on hillsides and you never need a weatherman to tell you which way the wind blows.