Shorebreaks (Thought Auditing pt. 2)

[oats]

the shorebreak sings me melodies, the sway of its ebb is
telling me to let my memories persuade where I'm heading
raised in these waters, this beach is my most sacred possession
sand and saltwater communion - my first taste of perfection
I remember seeing rainbows in the spray of the sections
the full spectrum of light painted in a graceful impression
I played in the sets, mistaking the cascade of their crescents
as mirrors of the moon that made them - nature's way of inception
each wave is a lesson; be prepared to bathe in correction
whether for hubris in your usefulness or brazen aggression
but cradle your breath! there's hope if you can make the connection -
that there's zen in the helplessness beneath the weight of oppression

as the sun fades in the west, the crowds'll disband
exposing shoreline like an overbitten mouth of the land
I hide my toes in it, close my lids for hours, then stand -
the closest I can get to growing out of the sand.
doubt grips my hand, waves crash closer than they ever did
erosion ripped the beach out from the places that I left it in
troubled kid, nowhere to fit, this ocean was my sedative
sanctuary for the ill at ease, my private leper settlement.

my regret-impediment begins to slowly surface
pushed toward the shoreline by the salt-corroded currents:
trans-pacific ambitions, the glint of golden merchants
are now scars lodged in my psyche - my soul is holding urchins
a rush of cold controls my urge to walk back from the beach
the wind wakes whispers of opportunities, laughing at me
here I stand - at the scene of my passion receding
beholden to ghosts of trophies of my atrophied dreams

what happened? it seemed I was destined for the firmaments
excellently nourished - back for seconds of encouragement
piled it on, I was god! shedding questions I was burdened with
no obstacles to conquer - why address if you can circumvent?
but the true seconds I was nurtured in were sobering moments
of painful vulnerabilities, times with nowhere to go,
when I was cold, on my own, hopeless, broken, alone and
5000 stone-throws removed from the consoles of the ocean…

but the moans of my coast uprooted me - and foolishly
I left the home of my growth hoping to return to what I used to be
I assumed the beach was still the canvas for my lucid dreams
but those useless pleas are moot to seas - I arrived to speak its eulogy
nostalgia - such a cruel belief! but nature had another plan
my beach, once expansive, now a thin strip of its sunken sand
who I was, am, and want to be abrade into one crumbled man;
my life’s reflected by the fate of how the waves hit the mother land

I stutter-stand, torn between the stasis of comfortable
and the miles of my desires: the sacred and wonderful
places I’ve been chasing, mistakes that I’ve come to know
but haste has been replaced since I’m afraid of the undertow -

the problem is I got more ideas than minutes
more ambitions to begin than I have reasons to finish
more horizons to explore than I have means to their limits
more pulpits to preach from than there are people to listen
the seas crease to a grimace - the winds of change stir up a breeze in the distance
years of growth across the ocean rise and screech to this instant
but the question is will destiny be seized or relinquished?
will I make it to my feet or let the beach take me with it?

I wade knee-deep in the shallows, feel the past
rushing over me, a hopeless plea to leave it at last
weakening stance - I close my eyes to taste the adventure
Calling me. I stall and see the next wave is a lecture
So I duckdive. Let the water eddy around me
Embrace the vertigo of indecision, expectation and changing surroundings
Patiently drowning. I'm a rag doll, a toy for the ocean
In exchange for the knowledge to be still and enjoy the commotion

[Frank]

groovy

[oats]

Cool thanks

[Split]

I hide my toes in it, close my lids for hours, then stand -
the closest I can get to growing out of the sand

pushed toward the shoreline by the salt-corroded currents:
trans-pacific ambitions, the glint of golden merchants


I stutter-stand, torn between the stasis of comfortable
and the miles of my desires: the sacred and wonderful
places I’ve been chasing, mistakes that I’ve come to know
but haste has been replaced since I’m afraid of the undertow -

the problem is I got more ideas than minutes



-----------

^highlights

I thought this was cool because topicals/ om's are rarely anything but depressing and dysfunctional. too many. much. it didnt IMPRESS me because you're from Hawaii and if you're not happy there 92% of the time then they strap you to a submersible with lei's and drag u along the 1/4 mile shoreline in front of a Maui resort where you die in a sea of old ppl condoms

but nah this was cool, I liked it. it droned on a little bit in comparison to Thought Auditing pt. 1, tbh I thought that piece was killer. your rhymes in both pieces were/ are stellar, but that one was just slightly more interesting all around. maybe it was just the context of that battle. but I liked your storytelling better in that one as well.

keep keyin

[oats]

appreciate the feed, split.

[Saila]

Never got bored reading this, despite the length - and it's not easy to hold my attention. The opening bar flowed so smoothly. Great imagery and superb use of vocab.
Loved the bathe in correction/brazen aggression bar. That was fire!! Your word usage was impressive and not once did it feel forced. It all rolled off the tongue with ease, and that made it all the more enjoyable to read. This is one I'll give a few views to. Good shit dude.

[Certain]

I feel a similar stasis in my life right now. I went to college in Maryland, left for a year and came back for a good job and a chance to reunite with friends and familiarity. And all I want now is something new. All the things I thought would be here really aren't, and it's left me feeling detached from a place I know so well.

A lot of times I stress specificity. In our conversation for the league magazine, I brought up the struggle to let readers in, even in introspection. You didn't really do that. You kept the sources of your aimlessness hidden, and I think that could have been an issue if I hadn't come into this verse with some idea of where you're coming from. But then, I reconsider. The beach as an internal reflection is a rather trite metaphor, but you made it work because you did give us specific images to latch onto there.

I didn't think the opening and closing stanzas needed to be italicized. They weren't at all separate from the rest of the verse. There weren't many hiccups ("the glint of gold merchants are" stood out), and the complexity of the language really shined. Your rhyme schemes varied from on point to exceptional but never got in the way of anything. This is very advanced writing, the type I wouldn't want to show young writers because they'd end up trying to replicate it with terrible cliché. Here it works because you know what you're doing.

That's not to say it completely delivers. There are a few sections here that could be tightened or removed entirely or folded into other stanzas. The length isn't justified by the content, in no small part because the content remains so vague. It might have been a mistake to wander from this metaphorical beach, as it could have distracted from the imminence and relatable nature of your verse. But it also could have driven the emotion home and perhaps not made it feel as much one-note. This verse has a specific point and drives at it for an extended period of time.

But your sense of purpose is present from the opening lines, and it gets further defined with each stanza. There were some turns of phrase that will stick with me beyond tonight, such as "exposing shoreline like an overbitten mouth of the land" and "Embrace the vertigo of indecision." That's great writing. This is one you should be proud of.

I'm not sure why Split Eight thought this verse was happy. Maybe it was, and I'm reading my own inadequacy into it. But he's gone and dead to all of us.

[Vulgar]

Effing sick.

but cradle your breath! there's hope if you can make the connection -
that there's zen in the helplessness beneath the weight of oppression
^Greetings, Yoda.

troubled kid, nowhere to fit, this ocean was my sedative
sanctuary for the ill at ease, my private leper settlement.
^Impacting.

the problem is I got more ideas than minutes
more ambitions to begin than I have reasons to finish
more horizons to explore than I have means to their limits
^Third line is very relatable.

You killed it with the whole last stanza. I feel like going to the beach now.

Keep doing you

[Mitch]

This is fluid, Straight fluid. TOO deep