Best Huron Poems
Lake Huron
Lake
Huron
Beauty shore
Freshwater fish
Engulfed within Manitoulin Island
Written By: Laura Urbaniak
Date Written: December 8, 2015
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Is there any place as lonely
As a Lake Huron resort town
In the off-season of mid-November?
Sign outside the church reads THANK YOU!
Its steeple a record player needle
Set to the warped sky
Barry Manilow ballads
Hobbling from an A.M. station that’s all but given up
It’s just me and a delivery truck
On Route 23
Toddling along as a pair between Oscoda and Whitney
Two boys up there in beards and their 20s
Passing a joint in their rearview mirror
Deer season opens soon.
Who needs a passing lane this late afternoon?
Lake Huron is bristle as elephant skin
Oil jacks pumping in the stalks of corn
Like slot machine handles looking for a pull of luck
But the Big Boy’s been closed for longer than that
The fat boy in his checkered apron
His hand raised to an empty tray
Like the iron flame from the Statue of Liberty
His indefatigable grin still waving me in
From the parking lot mixed of dust and dirt
Next door to the Riptide Motel
Sign reads YOU’RE WELCOME
Mervin's room via Jackson Hewitt, Lake Huron
My dear Nay few!
My dear shenanigan floating near Shenandoah
Let us make a trip itinerary around the upcoming December
For the longest word where she sang for long, so long
Even a patsy like me denied the intervention
Not to repeat the Meriam , as they sung , unsung, a faded croon
For years too long enduring a morning, a bay boon.
Bonjour!
October 26, 2024
Shanandoah is a place poem.
December is a month
Meriam is a Thesaurus pal
Before the L section in Babylon
Please watch out after twenty past chapter four!
Oracle, are you impeccably manual?
When Hugh and Ron got drunk together
and pissed a lake of mighty size,
their eery neighbor also spilled it
and let his eery waters rise.
By far superior was another
with depths of thirteen hundred feet.
His superiority was awesome
which Hugh, Ron, Eery couldn’t beat.
Below them lay Ontario Lago,
a bloke whose name is not much fun
because no matter how I turn it
I can’t create a lakey pun.
Indian summer fall day
Glimmering sunshine filtering through the swaying leaves
Casting shadows upon the sidewalk
Looking out a window
A homeless man is observed
As he begins to use the courtyard as his stage
Loneliness
Brings about the need to have imaginary conversation with the pedestrians
A need to hear ones own voice
Scurrying pedestrians are too frightened
To use the courtyard as a gathering place
To share lunch with friends
He walks away
He turns and gives the sign of the cross as if to imitate a priest
Portraying a blessing upon the stone bench
Which he is known to sleep on
He carries with him, his meek possessions
Stuffed into a makeshift pouch
Headed to another park to spend time alone
Hearing the sounds of the city
The sound of the city police
Stating he must vacate the premises
The homeless walk with their heads down
TO prevent seeing the look of disgust
As the pedestrians whiz by