Best Canoeing Poems
canoeing
the river
of life's currents
Categories:
canoeing, growing up, journey, life,
Form:
Senryu
Chapter 11: The Problem with Lakes
Canoes and larger lakes don’t mix well I’m afraid,
The rough equivalent of a margarita and a toothpick.
On the Mississippi a lake means a dam somewhere,
The scenic route buried now under dam water
Its prurient writhing now veiled from prying eyes
By puritanical hedonists more interested in flood control
And water reserves, than glacial art or Sculptor’s knife of water.
The placid appearance of a lake is modern quicksand
For a loaded canoe with its low running boards,
The wake of pleasure craft the worst as dilettantanti
In power’s limits, rush to greet you, cameras flashing.
The huge commercial barges pushed by true power craft
With opposing twin screws, create almost no wake at all,
But neither can they stop on a dime, so best stay clear.
Many Mississippi lakes cannot be seen across
And though the shortest path from entrance to egress
May be obvious to you, it may not be the wisest choice.
A day’s weather can change in minutes, who’s to warn you,
And some lakes can take hours to cross, what’s Plan B?
You’ve no flight plan, the lake may be deserted, who’ll miss you,
And a sudden wind’s waves on a large lake can kill you.
Brian Johnston
October 29, 2014
Categories:
canoeing, boat, dream, journey, nature,
Form:
Blank verse
Imagine that we are out boating on
A lovely Sunday afternoon that floats
Our imaginations like wind swept clouds,
Rippling from horizon to horizon.
You are pillowed in the bow of our canoe,
A thin foam pad lifts you off wood ribbed bottom.
No smooth fiberglass for us, a bright
Umbrella protects you from the sun,
And a wine-rich picnic basket awaits us
As underwater green leaves dampen our motion
In the shallow but glass-smooth mountain lake,
That bends high breaking waves, ridges of buoyant rock
Like a telescope lens, magnifying, doubling our joy.
Craters marring our surface are more visible too,
So close are we now that your flaws seem
Almost touchable in the fragrant breeze
As breathing its emotionally charged air
We clumsily explore the terraformed landscape,
Together, alone, here, Adam and Eve on Mars.
Brian Johnston
October 1, 2015
Categories:
canoeing, life, love,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Overflow of the waters of Lake Itaska
You carry your wealth to the waiting world,
Mighty Mississippi, half savior, half sewer,
Plant and animal wastes, dissolved minerals,
Venting prairie deluge, dividing a Nation,
Exposed aquifer of Great Plains, home of Buffalo ghosts,
And their equally threatened ancestor, the prairie dog.
Standing at your mouth I can wade your depths,
Even jump your width in places,
Though it is more difficult than the boy imagined,
And the winter's overgrowth problematic.
Your lightning like flash across the land (1)
Has haunted my dreams the whole of my life
And pulled at my soul like the moan of distant trains.
Now I am here at last, my dream becoming liquid,
Wooden oars, tent, canoe and provisions waiting,
Dr. Peppers stored in a sturdy ice chest.
I am more than ready to see the world through your eyes,
And to meet the sea as well in your company (if fate allows.)
My wife a novice and myself not much more,
We launch ourselves, glissando (2) toward New Orlean.
Brian Johnston
Sept. 19, 2014
Poet's Notes:
Everything in this poem is true as I can best remember. I was 28 at the time and my wife Kathy was 24 so it has been a few years ago that we did this. The eight chapters so far are not the end of this poem. I have at least 3 more chapters planned, one on portaging around dams, one on going through locks (beginning in Minneapolis-St. Paul) , one on leaving the river after traveling over 1,000 miles in 7.5 weeks, and then a final clean up including lessons learned and post trip consequences.
(1) 'lightning like flash' - I was imagining here how much the path taken by the Mississippi across the land actually resembles a lightning bolt's flash across the sky to earth.
(2) glissando - A musical word meaning a gradual sliding (transition) in tone from one note to the next note on the musical scale.
Categories:
canoeing, boat, dream, journey, nature,
Form:
Blank verse
Extra weight no longer a problem for shallow water,
We bulked up for the next leg of our journey,
Water containers, even some canned goods
An acceptable luxury in our seventeen foot canoe,
A canvas topping lashed everything in securely,
Offered some weather proofing for sensitive gear,
Our sleeping bags, some staples, and clean clothing.
Cameras were kept in waterproof pouches
That stayed within easy reach of paddlers,
Fishing rods and car mounts for the canoe,
In case we burned out, topped the load,
With ice chest and Dr. Peppers easily accessible.
In high spirits we set out on the next leg,
Destination Cass Lake's Boy's Camp Chippewa.
I had traveled this leg before as a twelve year old,
By canoe, but with less luxury, until Bemidji,
Where each of our crew went to a late movie,
And downed a Paul Bunyan Special banana split
One banana and seven scoops of ice cream,
Camp four miles across open water long after dark,
With only a fire on a distant shore to guide us home. (4)
Poet's Notes:
(4) People die pulling stunts like this. In fact strong winds arose forcing us to shore shortly after we started, light rain and lightning flashes high in the sky! We had to pull our canoes wading in the dark along the shore for 3 hours to reach our camp. Our counselors pledged us all to secrecy for they would have been fired had management known the danger they put us all in.
Categories:
canoeing, boat, dream, journey, nature,
Form:
Blank verse
gliding through its ripples breaking the stillness
in harmony paddling with my ancestors
serene other than a loon's call as witness
gaging the span of mountains by trimesters
a sunrise about to make its grand entrance
closing my eyes as to trade furs feels intense
ageless today there is no one keeping time
river sun mountains clouds paddling paradigm
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on January 31, 2019 for contest MY PLACE MULTI-PART EASTER PRIZES sponsored by CAROLYN DEVONSHIRE
on August 6, 2018 for contest AUGUST 2018 PREMIERE sponsored by BRIAN STRAND
and July 9, 2018 for contest PICTURE ME A SUMMER RISPETTO sponsored by BARRY STEBBINGS
Categories:
canoeing, mountains, nature, spiritual, surreal,
Form:
Rispetto
Our riverbank launch at dawn
where dense forest chills the breeze,
where cottonwood leaves flutter like wings,
and weeping willow penumbras tease.
Glistening, rippling turquoise water churns.
Crystal swirling pools symphonic and aglow,
elliptic aluminum crafts coast over craggy stones,
riverbed scattered rocks gleam clearly below.
Current River splits between sandbar silt.
Our paddles sink through rivulet tug.
Meandering, twisting, converging again,
water sculpting limestone, granite, or sludge.
We drift into shallow magic ponds of quiet.
The sweet fragrant water lilies subsume us.
Along the bank, turtles cling to driftwood.
The rowing in this reverie is not arduous.
Another sunlit pool, a home for trout,
their waving shapes dart under shimmering stream.
Pausing our paddles, we heed distant water rush,
how ready are we for river rapid extremes?
Our canoes enter fast-breaking flows.
Frantic, we navigate dead trees and rocks.
The roller coaster of white waves propels
past vague landscapes and distant crow squawks.
One canoe capsized where river sharply bends.
Lifejackets on, other canoeists to the rescue,
all the cooler food, a gift to the river.
Sleeping bags turned sponges; no one argued.
The canoe water finally emptied; we resume.
Each winding channel, a chapter in our allegory,
musky, muddy scents and echoed whippoorwills entrancing.
The bold beam of afternoon dims into dusk’s glory.
We camp on a sandbar under night bouquets of stars,
our trip has just begun: our quest must take us far.
Accepted for Publication, 11/2023: PoetrySoup Anthology Vol. III
Reflections on the Important Things
Categories:
canoeing, allegory, dream, extended metaphor,
Form:
Pastoral
Chapter 10: Modern Dams & Locks
A highpoint of our whole trip, a lock and dam,
Originally St. Anthony Falls in Minneapolis - St. Paul.
Can you imagine how Spanish explorers felt
Entering California’s Golden Gate for the first time?
It lay undiscovered for over two hundred years
Of coastal exploration by the Spanish,
Seen first by hunters on a land expedition in 1769!
First completed in 1963, this amazing lock,
56 X 400 feet long, drops your boat over 49 feet.
When we pulled the chain signal above the lock,
Two men came out to look over a concrete wall
Because they could not see us from the control room.
When they saw our tiny canoe, they had hysterics,
And then let us go through the lock by ourselves.
The heavy upstream gates closed and then
The water underneath us started churning
As valves were opened that let out the water
On the downstream side, and sky above us
Disappeared as if we were descending to hell.
Normally one would have to wait until the lock
Was full of small boats, once again we were royalty.
Brian Johnston
October 28, 2014
Categories:
canoeing, boat, dream, journey, nature,
Form:
Blank verse
Two people in a canoe
It is both their first time
One of them is nervous
The other is being calm
One seated in the back
The other in the front
Each one has a paddle
So the journey begins
The paddle goes in the water
Then the paddle comes out
One of them h]gets wet
From the wet paddle
Going into the water
Then coming out wet
One of them is very wet
Cooled off from the sun
Categories:
canoeing, boat, water,
Form:
Free verse
'Camp Chippewa, ' its tennis and rifle range, X-Class sailing,
And classic 'Old Town' canvas covered wooden canoes,
Not the low-class aluminum canoes of a 'Camp Thunderbird.'
Cass Lake - garden of the Mississippi's hidden currents,
Nature's setting for Star Island's fresh blue berry thickets,
Brisk, though swimmable waters, still safe to drink.
Cass Lake - child of the first dam, city sewage dumped below.
Kathy and I were warmly received by Chippewa's staff,
And given a hot meal and tour by the owner's son.
Though it was too early for the new season's initiates,
The rustic setting and friendly staff made us feel at home.
Early afternoon found us approaching the dam's spillway,
Though Kathy thought me crazy, we unloaded the canoe,
And I paddled it alone through the one open gate, YAAHOO! !
How many dreams can you remember coming true?
This whole trip was a waking dream, a gift for me,
Including having a wife who was willing to share it.
Miles of river already, dust shaken from our gunnels,
Adventures of the days to come hanging like a white sheet
Strung between trees in an unwired, impoverished village,
Only imagination powers the projector of what can be. (7)
Poet's Notes:
(7) This wonderful image is the child of an experience from my American Peace Corps experience in East Africa. Once a month a VW Van would show up in even the most remote villages and they would hang up a white sheet across ‘main street' and show ‘free' older movies to the locals like ‘Tarzan, The Ape Man.' Villagers thought that Tarzan was quite a funny, if stupid guy. You don't talk to monkeys you eat them! Of course, then, between every reel, there would be ten minutes of hard core advertising for everything from toothpaste to cigarettes to alcohol and always girls hanging on the arm of the man buying these products! I always assumed that advertisers paid for these monthly films but I do not know that to be true.
Categories:
canoeing, boat, dream, journey, nature,
Form:
Blank verse
Chapter 9: Portaging Older Dams
Eleven Minnesota dams we had to portage
All without clear use for folks today
But as the Mississippi is a ‘navigable’ river.
Owners are required by law to transport boats
Around these artificial barriers to ‘commerce’
And ‘social intercourse’ (like our canoe.)
This can make the dam owners hard to find!
Most of these dams backed up water only
For short distances, historic nuisances today,
Maintained only now to prevent further damage
To the altered ecosystem they themselves created,
A rare incidence of business being held responsible.
Or a clever ruse to avoid the real clean up costs?
It’s hard to trust that anyone alive is not ‘Me! Me! Me!’
But the owner’s of the dam with the three mile
Impassible boulder field below it won our praise.
A pickup was sent with two strong men
Who picked up the canoe gear and all,
Slipped it into the back, and tied it down.
Within an hour we were back in the water,
Paddling downstream with the current.
Brian Johnston
October 28, 2014
Categories:
canoeing, boat, dream, journey, nature,
Form:
Blank verse
Like a young girl, early river is inviting,
Charms a plenty, but surprising secrets,
We imagined potential rapids around every corner,
A new born fawn and doe caught drinking,
Whole families of hatchling ducks,
So curious we could have fed them,
Greeting silent canoe as larger ‘mother.' (8)
Further down the river, older cousins
More attentive to true mother's warnings,
Disappeared as if by magic (under water)
Foraging lessons adapted to defense now,
Dandelion seeds moving with the current
Scattered by a child's loving breath and wish
A river's view of duck development.
A magic too in river's meanders -
Sometimes they cut into each other
So that one loop votes itself out of action
Becoming obsolete to river flow,
And wild rice growing there filters even more
The rich loam carried by cloud burst erosion
Always looking for a quiet place to call home.
Poet's Notes:
(8) In Nature there is something called the ‘Imprinting Process' where young animals like ducks will follow what ever large animal presents itself if the real mother is absent for some reason. I think that this first group of hatchlings actually thought our canoe was their mother for a short period of time.
Categories:
canoeing, boat, dream, journey, nature,
Form:
Blank verse
Oh let me sing of the river's people
No, not holiday boaters, but those rare few
Whose homes and hearts embrace the river,
Trafficking in all that she so blithely carries.
Backyards a port of entry for wayward canoeists
Seeking naught but groceries and Dr. Peppers,
Well, maybe an occasional Dairy Queen as well.
Dinners, showers, homes left open, conversations,
Tales of those who came before, war stories,
Worn proudly as they counted victory and loss as well,
Fodder of a life well lived, trophies of significance
Those who wrote to thank them, those who didn't.
I see now too that I myself was not grateful enough,
The safety of a home's backyard is holy ground.
Once as dusk was stooping lower
River banks loomed high above us
Blocking view of a good night's campground
I spied tire tracks suggesting boat ramp
And pulled ashore to check it out.
Found above game warden's yard and home.
He drove us 30 miles to replace used camera film. (9)
Poet's Notes:
(9) The hospitality and generosity of the Minnesotan people we met on this trip was for me almost beyond belief. We truly were treated like celebrities.
Categories:
canoeing, boat, dream, journey, nature,
Form:
Blank verse
Every journey worth its salt has rocky places
Bank to bank filled with frothing white water,
The economics of avoidance, steering a lean course,
Avoiding higher peaks that thrill - vouchsafed to others.
Rest days taken during times of lower water
Even portaging some sections altogether,
Below one dam a three mile jumble of boulders.
Only one stretch really caught us napping.
Truth be told it really had me worried,
But knowing that we were riding higher water
I steered as best I could between foaming protrusions
That prudence whispered likely hid a rock.
Just once, as I recall, we grounded on gravel bar,
But I pushed us off before current turned us broadside. (10)
Minnesota's rollicking Mississippi is a charmer,
And many State Campgrounds court her boundaries,
Some even have hot water showers and manicured sites,
But a pall of mosquitoes infests more timbered parks
That no wind short of a tornado has the power to disperse,
We ate our evening meals under beekeeper's hats and nets,
It is funny when mosquitoes dive bomb cooling plates of food.
Poet's Notes:
(10) This is a real danger for a canoe in a rapid. A canoe that turns broadside to the rushing water can be rapidly filled with water and swamped.
Categories:
canoeing, boat, dream, journey, nature,
Form:
Blank verse
Deliberately provisioned light on our departure,
Bemidji, Minnesota, is our first port of call.
Though eighty miles by river's reckoning,
This first stretch is an annual competition
That canoeing experts make in one day,
But my sister, concerned about our safety,
Vows to wait for us three days there.
First days were slower than expected,
Trees were down requiring portage,
Small bridges also posed a problem,
Unpacking, carrying canoe around obstacle,
Then repacking, before paddling once more,
Light snow danced as we made camp,
Those first nights well below freezing mark.
It's not a well known fact, but mosquitoes
In Minnesota snort anti-freeze in the local gyms,
As a part of their pre-season training. (3)
However their proboscis' cannot get through
A two inch thick down jacket except at seams,
Which creates matching patterns on one's back,
When campers forget to spray clothing too..
Brian Johnston
October 19, 2014
(2) More Mosquito Jokes...
a. In Minnesota the State Bird is the mosquito.
b. Two mosquitos in Alaska are carrying off a human baby and one says to the other, 'Quick, let's get him to the forest and hide him before the bigger guys take him away from us! '
Categories:
canoeing, boat, dream, journey, nature,
Form:
Blank verse