Last month we sent out an announcement on our site, calling for poetry by local writers.

In partnership with The Muse Writers Center, the contest was the first of a series aimed at promoting literature and celebration of the Seven Cities. In consideration of the latter, we prompted writers to “craft a poem which explores the significance of our tidewater topography on the region’s social landscape.”

The submissions were vetted by Muse co-director Lisa Hartz, and narrowed down to the five best. From these, guest editor and renowned local poet Tim Seibles chose the winner; “Laziness” by Jacob Wilson.

“I was moved by both the simplicity of the language and the thinking behind the poem,” says Seibles. “I felt that I was being spoken to directly. I enjoyed the quiet precision in the words and the sense of intimacy in the tone of voice.”

Now, without further ado:

Laziness

Why are we drawn to water,
we humans?

Is what I’m wondering as I sit
on an exposed root between the beach and the trees

of Seashore State Park, the waterway below
glimmering and winking up at me.

I am gazing at the backs
of two turquoise lawn chairs.

A man’s head and neck sprout from one,
from the other, a woman’s ponytail.

The only one there not staring
at the water is a curly haired dog

facing me with its chin at rest on the sand
and shaded eyes that stare straight through me,

who occasionally leaps to his feet to bark and
bound after someone else’s dog.

A soft breeze pushes past us, carrying on it
the hum and slap of distant jetskis and boats.

But these details are unimportant; the point
is: What are we all doing here?

This question has been bothering me
since I found this beach-side observatory.

For, were I to sit idly indoors I might be shunned
for a recluse and wastrel.

But relocate myself into proximity with a body of water—
ocean, pond, kiddie-pool, again it’s unimportant—

and at once I am an active participant—the captain
of my own little barnacled skiff, plying the inscrutable seas of Life.

But it’s getting hot; I think I’ll go back home
and cool off in the shade of my living room,

maybe take a nap on the couch—the one
that swallows you up in its brown folds

like a Pitcher Plant seducing an ant to its tiny death
with the scent of nectar: its very own Sirens’ call.

About the poet:

Jacob Wilson is a life-long lover of words. Raised from an early age on Tolkien and other fantasy fare, he gradually translated a fondness for toying with meaning in spoken language into an ongoing exploration of the vastness of a blank sheet of paper. Jacob was born on 34th Street in Virginia Beach, grew up at the oceanfront, and loves surfing when waves come to town. He is working in marketing until he can find a wealthy patron to support him in the leisurely life of a poet.

Read the other poems chosen as the top finalists.

And click here for details on our next literature contest, co-sponsored by The Muse. The genre is non-fiction essay, and the guest judge will be best-selling author Janine Latus.