Out on the horizon, beneath the sinking sun, it rolls in,
They all come to watch, they come to ride the wild surf.
For the true surfer it comes from within, at one with the wave,
Shooting the tube, living on the edge, free to glide across the water.
From Australia, the split, surfers paradise, they battle the rolling storm,
To Hawaii, Waimea Bay, North shore, Pipeline, or Hanalei Bay, the wave.
Above the wave where dreams are made, surf the open water way,
Around the world beyond the shores of Peru to New Zealand, ride.
Above the wave, beneath the wide open sky, forever ride,
Touch the water and listen to the sound of the crashing waves.
Keith Garrett
keithgarrettpoetry 
i don’t surf, but this poem makes me feel like i just did!
🙂
Your poem reminds me of some lines from one of my favorite songs, like “Wow, where did she learn how to surf?/ You know I’ve never see the girl wipe out”. The song is “Lithium Flower” by Scott Matthew. Here’s a link to it if you’re curious – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=znoIgkRxCwU Also, your use of the country name “New Zealand” struck a cord with me. I used to personify New Zealand as a girl I used to love. Great poem man!
This is one for my husband… He is a surfer and at one with the waves…
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