Best Canoes Poems
Sigh you wind whispering willows
Green sentinels of the ocean blue
Her feet edge no more the billows
Where canoes dock and salt sprays spew
Sigh for the loss of responsiblity
Sigh for the death of sensibility
See you not these cold, worn stones
That in their stoic composure stay
And water laps sand muted of groans
Though a mutual tenant passed away
O willows weep, for the sun is set
On my heart made barren by regret.
She lived here without pretense or grief
Scrubbing floors, clothes, pots, and pans
For pittance spent as dust in a sieve
She earned her status with her hands
And knew all the fishermen by name
Who sold her the small ones when she came.
By light of night she fed her family food
And by the faith of her soul she stood
Against fear or doubt, grace was the mood
Tears was from the smoke of cooking wood
Weep then for the lady gone in silence
And stir the stones to standard sentience
I'm a sinister shell,
lost in bygone
deepwaters of
gravity-less
cerulean tears,
that saturate
molten sundrops,
falling from
zinc-plated skies,
as heliophilic snow,
melts frosted
memories in
white-washed waves,
and the moon-
kissed paint of
chamomile dusk
seeps in
cataclysmic bruises of
cloudburst refrains.
Perhaps, phosphenes
perfumed with
blueth poppies,
splashing neon drops
upon midnight shores
of crystallized
coastal lashes,
left pearlescent
ice-drop stains
of fervent lies
and cupid's lampshade.
I was never a
flamboyant fleur flower,
for my rufescent roots
were induced with
evil effervescence
of elusive lambent love.
Dormant heavens
of cursed fairies,
are now bleeding
mahonia mist of
cocooned truths
and deserted dreams
in periwinkle
poetic estuaries,
where doomed
driftwoods float
as ash grey
carnival-canoes.
In werifesteria of
alchemist's
expensive jewels,
amidst soiled seagrass,
this heart slumbers
in silicon rain,
that drips from
lime-scented
starfish-shaped leaves,
when pain escalates
to tangled treetops,
blooming ~
scarlet sun-shells,
infused with
my smoldering
sinister soul.
the red glow so far away
so close, embraced
the burst of innervated dawn
restraining its awe
the uplift of a lemony-spring
sponge-squeezed from the sudsy sun
the faucet of quiet waters turned off
the aura of a red and white sail on the run
and my day’s just begun
just wait
until the unspooling of the supermoon
the sand dunes of midnight
dreaminess in the lightly rocking socket
infused with Panamanian water lilies
whereas my ears leap at the splash
of oar-rowed canoes
my eyes behold but a shadow of heaven
and i almost die right there and then
in my dugout
i awake to a blue ceiling with stars
hazardly close
unable to breach the barrier reef
i sink into my pillow
in stillness
asleep
6/25/2019
My island slept for years in the care
Of Tainos, Caribs and Arawak
Their canoes on the sea breast bare
Dreaming of milk from manioc
The swamps unscarred, trees secure
Batos and songs rinsed in the azure.
Then came doom laden caravels came
Prancing with Conquistadores
Their swords to slaughter, then to shame
The Ave Marias slutted by whores
Whose blazing balls of canons denied
The sufficient death of the crucified.
My island was the Mary Magdalene held
For ransome in the frying lust
For gold, the continental wars spelled
A trembling virginity in the dust
A lost of idyllic grace, where bloody men
Sowed the evil inherited again and again.
From Spanish to French, Spanish to British
How callous is all history
A spectre publishing the marginal brutish
Shrivelled glory of identity.
And still my Mary, her alabastor box a gift
This tropic wonder, this lignum vitae of thrift
From empty tomb to broken hearted disciple
Evanglizes the Mahoe dawn
Over the Blue Mountain where peace ripple
On the motto, still the fawn
In the forest brings the stag to court
This island stands ready to file a good report.
Endlos und überwachsend, der Urwald,
immergrün,
über dem dunklen Wasser,
Krokodile im Abendlicht,
tauchen auf
und verschwinden am Ufer.
Nebel,
der wie ein zartes Gespinst über dem Wasser liegt,
nährt das Grün des Waldes,
lässt es erblühn,
aus dem Dunkel,
Licht aus der Einsamkeit geboren.
Nur manchmal,
dort wo eine Lichtung den Wald vertrieben hat,
ragen Hütten auf,
fast vom Wald verschlungen.
Einsame Einbäume zeugen von Leben.
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Vast and overgrown, the jungle,
rainforest,
crocodiles appear at the surface of the river,
at nightfall,
and disappear near the banks.
Mist,
covering the water like a fine-spun web,
nurish the forest green,
makes it flower,
from the dark,
Light born from loneliness.
Only some times,
there, where a clearing has expelled the jungle,
some huts stand out,
nearly swallowed by the trees.
Solitary canoes prove life.
He sits Alone, In the rising sun ; or is it a setting Moon?
With a birch bark Flute, a sadden Heart plays a very lonely tune
Go north, then west, says Chief Roaring Eagle, I’ll be with You soon
You can feel the tears of “Roaring Eagle” rolling down Your cheek
As he plays a forlorn melody ( of history ) his birch bark flute : sings bleak
For his Native American Ancestry : a Heritage where tribal Leaders “Speak”
Of Yesterdays, when canoes would travel the rivers, catching trout in the creek
In remembrance when Buffalo, Deer, roamed the plains, Salmon owned streams
When a Young Brave, became a man, Hunting in the Forest ; Alone with His dreams
Alone with the mysteries of Life with the voice of Forefathers’ forever heard screams
As the Flute sings to the barren forest of bygones,Chief Roaring Eagle’s Eye, Gleams
In Thanksgiving to the Almighty, the Song of Life , Continues to reassure the Living
The echoes of the birch bark flute reverberate through a dieing forest, ever Living
Go North, then West, to a new land where the Songbirds sing of LOVE: and Thrive
Where the melody of a birch bark Flute ; Sings to Nature we are now again “ ALIVE
Inspired by the Contest "Tell His Story" sponsored by ~Constance~ A Rambling POET
Written by HGarvey Daniel Esquire~~ Dedicated to all Native Americans
9th Place
breathless hush
Beyond dreams
with candlelight burns
Lives cross lives idling
Beyond souls emptiness'
piano speaks
'It's all in one mind'
the trees listening
for they are one
with the universe
Eyes smell flowers and become them
There's a deathless hush tonight
tidal wave sweeps in
breathes and sinks all lights lit
Mormon tabernacles washed away like barnacles
Coyotes are confounded & swim nowhere
An orchestra keeps on playing Handel's Water Music
Horns fill with water float away like lovers horizontal
Loop becomes a rollercoaster
like water glasses mixed with Buddhist brine
watered down beer topped with sea foam
Beau Fleuve suddenly become salt
buried masts of Amsterdam arise
the great wave sweeps
to wash away over-age Camembert
steaming in sea-vines
the washed land awakes again to wilderness
the only sound a vast thrumming of crickets
a cry of seabirds high over
and Indians reclaim their canoes
(Blackout of Wild Dreams Of A New Beginning
By Lawrence Ferlinghetti)
Like cold marble statues
stiff as vague mixtures
of alcohol that stings of spirits,
cheap as famished souls.
Once were unique and proud,
now the vanishing isles!
A struggle to keep adrift
to face the blue sky vast
and unyielding, matching
that deep Pacific Ocean.
Hear us now gagging on
driftwood and rising waters.
Peaceful seas of dreams
where dancing bonitos circle
canoes,surfing freely cruising
with yellow fins in oceans of fun.
Now hear chokes of sinking feelings
and sirens lamenting restless souls.
As sea sprays watered eyes in contrition
someone changed the climate in Iceland
and desert storms rampaged our islands.
Rumblings of constipated volcanoes
longing for release but now stifled by
solar shields torn by man's greed.
As I float amongst the beaches of ghostly
Polynesian islands, the reefs cry out in
protest as navigation comes full circle,
back to 'hawaiki' our 'once was seen'
home of origin, a failed quest reiterating
the original theme of a people that "once
upon a time" existed now once again
A no man's islands.
Seven thousand islands grace the shore
as narra trees arise , sun -dressed
with ripples humming a native folksong--
gracious the womenfolk, caressed
by Philippine beaches ever idyllic--
and exotic garlands spill from their baskets
crowning fiestas with decorative wares.
And boatmen wave to relish town’s gaiety
the canoes sailing in May's fluvial parade;
when wavelets of joy twirls, animated
along dewy coastlines… such heritage bears
the name reflecting its grandeur, 'Pearl of the Orient.'
My dawn and night broth, this homeland
where birthmark prints…a natural wonder of the world!
(your) Country 'tis of thee' Contest
Sponsor: Brahn Bailey Edited 9/3/2018
It's been awhile
I miss you my dear friend
How are you?
Do you still laugh with your heart?
Do you still play that game??
Maybe not, maybe yes
I don't know
We haven't talked for awhile
I hope you still do
Because i still do
It reminds me of us
Separated by the pacifics and the antlantics of life
We haven't seen each other
Somewhere in the callousness of technology, i lost your contacts
Somewhere in the busyness of our lives
It started to fade
Marriages, separations, divorces
Children, jobs etc
I don't know, too much
Too much pain
How's your pain?
Last time we talked, you were dating this guy that you weren't sure about
You loved him, he said he loved you too
But he had a kid out there
During your courtship
A dilemma
A nightmare
I wish you were close by
I wish i was close
So we can share box of tissues
And heal through life together
I miss you even more
I love you even more
Hopefully through the canoes and the ships of life
We will meet again
We will be
Give them clear mountain lakes,
And kid-friendly swimming holes,
Rafts, rowboats, and canoes;
Dads and sons with fishing poles.
Give them clear night skies,
Filled with just enough moonlight
To find shadowy paths--
Navigating by starlight.
Give them old patch jackets
To remind them of their tales:
Camporees, jamborees,
And famous historic trails
Give them some traditions
From American folklore;
Ashes saved from campfires,
To teach them who went before.
Give them Boy Scout handbooks,
Lengths of rope with knots to tie,
Multi-tool pocket knives,
And young Scouts wanting to try.
Give them trails to follow,
Maps and compasses to read.
Stories around a fire,
Patrols of Boy Scouts to lead.
All Scouts want is just a chance
To watch wildlife and touch native plants,
Go snipe hunting and backpacking,
And earn merit badges for everything.
All Scouts want is just somewhere
To swim and hike and breathe fresh air,
And to cook and laugh around a campfire.
There’s just not much more for a Scout to desire.
Remember ; Mountain :
When Paiute canoes paddled :
Bygone many years
Inspired by Raul's Contest " Morning Ambience "
My wife and I, some family and friends,
took advantage of the beautiful weather.
We packed our picnic baskets,
there were sixteen of us all together!
The location we had chosen,
was a resort town, not far away.
We settled down on a sandy beach
that overlooked the bay.
The bay was on McDonald Lake,
which had a beach of snow-white sand.
The temperature was warm enough,
so swimming would be just grand.
It wasn't all that crowded.
The kids had room to play.
It seems that we were lucky
we picked a real good day.
It was absolutely beautiful,
like I would picture paradise.
Such beautiful flowers and giant trees!
It got my mind to thinking, "Life is really nice".
Some rowboats and canoes were there.
You could use them if you wish.
You could ride around on McDonald Lake,
or maybe even fish.
Some of our group went swimming.
Others went for a nature walk.
Some of us just sat right there,
all we did was eat and talk.
Everyone was really pleased
with how the day turned out.
A lasting, Summer memory,
of that we had no doubt!
The river smells like damp cotton this morning,
the weather has been so complimentary to our exertions
frost invades the nights nicely and soft sunshine comforts our faces in daytime,
we have been averaging 26 miles per day for more than a week
which gives us fat optimism that we'll reach the he Mandan villages before November,
our sense of serenity and ease is abruptly shaken by a suspicious sight,
from the boats we notice , not far inland
a settlement abandoned to arid earth and the whispers of sullen fate,
with a detachment of 12 men
this broken place in paradise is searched
with the circumspection of armed archaeologists,
from wood and rock totems
we have surmised that this village belonged to the Arikaras,
evidently, they systematically left here, or were decimated by some terrible force,
a gutteral roar rips into my ears
as I see the most monstrous beast of my life,
it is the great grizzly bear, wicked in temper and simply petrifying in stature,
about 40 yards away Sheilds stumbles out of an Arikara sod lodge
as the grizzly emerges from it's liar, standing upright like a tower of terror
fangs in the air and claws ready to thrash
Sheilds buries a slug right into it's chest from 10 feet away
sounding like a large stone plunging deep into water
white panic stretches his face while the beast stammers for a moment,
there is no time for him to reload
and he starts running to the canoe faster than a fuse
several of us take aim and unleash a crossfire of lead
pegging the bear every which way halting it's chase
and with the speed of a two horse wagon it's running to the brush,
we forgo the hunt and evacuate to the canoes,
enough has been seen here,
J.A.B.
Chilled by cold Canadian air
Lake Okanagan’s waters run deep
And so does its Ogopogo
A legend the centuries keep
Native Americans feared it
Animal sacrifices were made
Before they boarded their canoes
And set out to traverse the lake
Campfire stories natives told
Of the monster “Snake in the Lake”
Long before Europeans arrived
To find odd figures in boats’ wakes
On the same latitude as Loch Ness
Ogopogo is thought to dwell
Beneath the cliffs of Squally Point
In an underwater cave’s well
Indian legends oft’ based on fact
And more than lore is in this mix
Thirty cars filled with tourists
Stared in awe, 1926
From fifteen to forty feet long
Lean body with a serpent’s head
Noted scientists suggest it is
A primitive whale once thought dead
Curious folks throughout the world
Are drawn to the creature’s lake
With two hundred sightings to date
Do you think what they’re seeing is fake?
February 24, 2020
For Chantelle's "Your Favorite Legend" contest