Best Boating Poems

(Re old poems)



The luncheon of French bourgeoisie under frilly striped awning.
Young fair maiden, rosy cheeks- beguiling her eyes; leans on the railing.
Amidst fruits and undrunk wine in amorous air strokes dog, a wife.
Men look askance in yellow straw hats, faces muse in blazing whites.
Quivering tints...

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I got a part-time job 
of which i"m very fond. 
It is down at the South Inch 
at the local boating pond. 

I help to sell the tickets 
and call out when they"re done, 
and in this sunny weather 
it really is quite fun. 

There...

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Human history is difficult;
hard pressed,
discovering
and rediscovering,
connecting
and reconnecting feelings
about therapeutic needs
and sacred wants
for trauma-prevention peace
trust
joy

Through co-empathic singing passions
which may,
too often, 
feel stressful

Irritating
depressing
stormy
before unconditional win/win regard
for Self AND Other
reconnect,

Like EgoTheistic re-ligion
and EcoMatrimonial
indigenously multicultural
ecowomanist wisdom

Of Ego/EarthTribe mutual MeWe becoming
more green therapeutic together
than win/lose competitive
confrontationally dissociating
controlling and too egocentric
and...

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Wading the Meramac River near Jesse James’ Cavern with my son…
I espied an adventurer who in stature was so very small to us.
Before me was a snail using a leaf like a catamaran to sail the squalls.
Now birds love to eat snails, and fish love...

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It was pouring cats and dogs
Fully drenched I returning from the piano class
Suddenly saw I, gathered a group of tiny tots
Busy making and floating paper boats

Sat down with them
And danced, sang, sailed the blue boats
In ecstasy I realised that had
Happily embraced my inner child

When emotions...

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I've posted a piece that's longer than the poetry section allows.

called: boating

In the "Short Story" section. 

I know I could take things out - to make the piece shorter and force it to fit in the poems section - but that length seems arbitrary ...

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leaving port in a storm
                             the not so swift
        ...

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Eroded,
undercut,
sagging for years beneath the weight
of a dead sycamore,
the bank gave way
when the lake was closed
and the dams opened up
during the winter overflow,
leaving the tree offshore,
hunkered down in the water,
half submerged,
its white branches groping the sky
like a blind spider waiting to prey.

The boat just happened...

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conversations caught -
                             in  soft focus   impressionist...

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boat plummets water 
water sprays heavy on face 
lake becomes serene...

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