Best Rowed Poems
How I wish to scuttle alone,
over a gentle river,
from bank to bank,
in a small boat,
rowed with a bamboo pole.
The call of the wild is an irresistible call,
to venture into the silken waters,
to feel the wind and look at the blue sky
with nimbus clouds drawing strange patterns,
when seagulls’ fly, shrieking over my head,
and sense the misty spray of water
when weary hours shall sink to blend
with the soothing sibilance of the river,
winding its way through woods and plains!
October. 23.2022
~Placed Eighth~
POEM OF THE DAY
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
As I was sitting in my rowboat...at a pond at Martha's Vineyard
I was fishing with my headphones on...listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd
Suddenly, a chilling wind...my god, I almost froze
While fishing with some sun-block on...a snowflake hit my nose
With "Freebird" blasting in my head...I paddled to the shore
I beached my boat, got dressed for winter...and fished a little more
As I rowed my boat to my fishing spot...the wind and snowflakes ease
The sun came out and warmed me up...fishing was a breeze
The temperature had dropped that day...as the summer was getting old
But heck, the only thing I caught that day...was a summer snowstorm cold
Listen, my dears, and I'll tell you a tale
Of a princess, a pirate, and glory.
There's a shipwreck, a rescue,
A romance, a ransom,
And a handicapped whale in the story.
There once was a princess, fairest of all,
But also quite vain and spoiled rotten.
She had a semi-private
Affair with a pirate
That would be but for me now forgotten.
The pirate, Mad Jack, was bloodthirsty and crude,
When upset, he'd explode, blow his top off.
Merchant vessels he sank,
Made their crews walk the plank,
Or, more rudely, their heads he would lop off.
One day Princess Daphne set out to sea
With her maid, they were bound for Majorca.
But the maid, in a gale,
Was swept over the rail
And inhaled by an asthmatic orca.
Lifeboats were lowered, the crew clambered in
And rowed quickly away, only thinking
Of saving their own necks,
Not the princess below decks
Left alone on a wreck that was sinking.
Then through the storm a ship hove into view,
At first Daphne thought it would dodge her.
But before she could hail her,
She felt courage fail her,
From its mast flew a vast Jolly Roger.
When Princess Daphne was brought before Jack,
She was haughty but thought he was handsome.
But to his greedy eyes
This fair royal prize
Represented a shipload of ransom.
But Jack was still human, Daphne was too,
And soon they were sharing their privates.
To his quarters she moved
And his crew all approved,
No one loves a love tale more than pirates.
But what of the ransom, yet to be paid?
Well, here the plot gets even deeper.
The stingy king said to Jack,
"No, I don't want her back.
It's cheaper for me if you keep her."
So Princess Daphne became Jack's sea wife,
And though common, but not mandatory,
When they became parents
They stopped being pirates
And passed peacefully out of the story.
For now then, my dears, that's the end of my tale,
An adventurous one hard to equal.
But, if I may be so bold,
And there's more to be told,
It may one day unfold in a sequel.
Unruffled beauties
float in boats rowed by their beaus
one warm Georgia day.
With fragile paper-white hands,
they fold their fans at twilight.
For the One New or Old Tanka Poetry Contest of Rick Parise
THE RESTLESS SEA
As dawn swept 'way the morning stars
A gloomy Helen glared
Poor Paris stood in silence-- watched--
He’d kiss her if he dared.
The sea was raging round their heads
The men rowed without cease
The lovers headed to their doom--
A myth is birthed in Greece
Ten thousand ships launch in pursuit
Rough soldiers flex their knees--
Today hunt thieves tomorrow queens--
Men do what kings will please
The soldiers puked and gambled hard
Twas boredom that they feared
A seasick trip was just a jaunt--
The Trojan shore appeared
The glory grew beyond Troy’s walls
The truth no one can trust….
Dark tragedy writ in the books--
Tis flung among the dust.
Victoria Anderson-Throop
1/14/13
A dead man’s boat
rowed itself from isle to isle,
dragging its dead man in its wake,
partially submerged, their tether tenuous,
yet somehow never broken.
Past The Isle Of Reeds,
where the slaves had been freed
from the crack of their master’s whip,
and their master, with great resentment,
would be exorcised of the malice
that he had so slavishly curated.
To The Isle Of Defeat
where it was fortunate to escape
the ruthless jagged rocks,
its dead man did not escape,
but in death was spared the agony
of the broken bones and lacerations.
Painfully close to The Isle Of Cleansing,
adorned by sands and rocks made new,
freshly crafted for their arrival
just moments before their arrival,
but the dead man’s boat
would not surrender its dead man.
To The Isle Of The Precipice
where gulls and albatross
sullied the ancient cliffs,
the boat stared up at them
but gave no thought to climbing them,
its dead man may have fallen from them,
perhaps in a better life.
The dead man’s boat
left the isles
and returned to open waters,
it’s dead man dragged in its wake,
together to sink in time.
27th March 2019
He defied tragedy as he rowed
His sturdy boat towards the middle
Of the cursed lake where once
His wife fell into the icy water
And drowned. He could not swim.
Time passed and he learned to bathe.
For he was not ready to stop rowing.
Every time he was on vacation leave,
He would challenge the cursed lake.
Let’s see if he’ll drown now that she’s dead.
He arrived in the middle of the large lake.
Suddenly he could not move his boat.
Instead, a current dragged him towards
The dreaded place where Sophie had died
And the boat came to a halt. A wood thrush
Flew down and rested on the farthest bow.
What a symphonic song it gently warbled!
A breeze rose and the bird flew away.
He felt strength in my arms and began to row
Skirting the shore with its many sandy beaches.
Until he saw a woman waving at him
Now he admitted she did not look like Sophie,
But had the same red curly hair and lithe figure.
She wanted a lift to her boat house, so he complied.
No word was spoken and off she went.
He rowed to his boat house, changed and got in his car.
The redhead was there thumbing a lift. Hamlet came to his mind:
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
Was his destiny running after him?
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
https://s-media-cache- ak0.pinimg.com/236x/72/97/79/7297796a1920d9e3fb4a59ff6da498ab.jpg
Pin 4198: Disney Gallery - Alice in Wonderland Series (Baby Oyster)
Variations on The Walrus and the Carpenter" a narrative poem by Lewis Carroll that appeared in his book Through the Looking-Glass, published in December 1871.
OYSTERS
The tide was low the sun was high
The beach was long and very dry
The moon had argued it wanted to stay
But try as it might, could not get its way
The beach was dry and very long
Two figures came walking along
They wept as they went and quietly spoke
Of cockle shell boats rowed by gentle folk
With the sun high and tide so low
They could see where the oysters grow
The Walrus exclaimed I have a strong hunch
That we have found a delicacy for lunch
The beach was long and very dry
Dining under the open sky
The carpenter scraped butter on his bread
While saying those oysters looked over fed
The tide was low the sun was high
Hear me oysters he did descry
Come and join our party under the Sun
Where you will have lots of wonderful fun
The beach was dry and very long
The oysters came singing a song
La da dee we are happy as can be
We will party then go back to the sea
With the sun high and the tide so low
One oyster cried please do not go
But the other oysters were more sanguine
For the carpenter offered them some wine
The beach was long and very dry
There seemed to be nothing awry
The oysters sat and listened to tall tales
Of dragons and knights and ships in full sail
The tide was low the sun was high
Alas the oysters end was nigh
The Walrus said oysters do not decline
The carpenter and I shall start to dine
The beach was dry and very long
No more was sung the happy song
The walrus looked at the gentle sea swell
The carpenter held the last empty shell
Dedicated to my friends Mikki & The Queen of Ghali
Makers of the most wonderful magic
~Completed 22/04/2015~
The farmer's pond was still and dark
the boat was small and light
two lovers they did disembark
their pleasure to excite,
all on a summer's night.
He rowed them out and let them float
into his arms she came,
the dense pine cloaked, kept them remote
two lover's sought their claim,
their passions so inflamed.
She felt him smile, as off he leapt
from boat to waist high lea,
he beckoned her into his keep
a groom and his beauty,
all night's passions to foresee.
On the soft sand, the fertile land
he pledged his troth to she,
as maid and man blessed the soft sand
with raucous revelry
lovers in harmony.
10/9/12
early morning …
as day blinked its eyes
I rowed the rickety little dory out -
smooth rivulets behind me in the mirror surface
slowly expired as I stopped in the middle
wrapping the misty silence around me
straining to remember the town
as it had been …
yes -
it would be about here -
the cemetery -
they moved all the graves they
could before the deluge
but many remained
for age or obscurity's sake …
it was there SHE first kissed me -
we went daily for the quietus and privacy
to do our homework after school
(and split the atom, of course)
there, friendship became ... more
like crocuses rushing to spring
we bloomed under the brooding arms
of a grumpy old elm
branches twisted
as if to keep our callow sins a secret …
so precious, those moments -
so ... distant …
thus …
a flood and three lifetimes later
it all decayed in the merciless murk -
an entire town given to the abyss
for the thirst of a metropolis
many miles away …
not a thought given to the sacrifice -
our dear town's tragedy
no laurel ever laid
upon these somber depths …
the feelings I pondered there in stillness
had no precedent -
half my life and countless memories
swimming far below in unforgiving darkness -
homes, streets, schools, churches
gardens of stone ...
drowned for progress and population …
and now,
I committed a like crime …
fishing my wallet from a corduroy pocket
I removed HER photo from its honored sheath
(where it had slept for years)
placed it ever-so-tenderly on the reservoir's surface
and watched it slowly lilt to the inky depths
with my youth ...
and her memory.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Strand Choice 10 Any Form Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "Free Verse Style Only" Poetry Contest, Emile Pinet, Judge & Sponsor.
The sheep stood on the burning deck, when all but he had fled
Someone had placed the captain's hat upon his woolly head
So bravely stood the sheep upon his first and last command
Promoted to high station and to duty's dire demand.
Beyond the ship to starboard, he surveyed the churning sea
And the crew, all in their lifeboats, working furiously,
To gain a good safe distance, they rowed both fast and well
So they would not go down with the ship beneath the final swell.
Comes the moment, comes the sheep and, as the captain on the deck,
The sheep stood in command, but with a rope tied round his neck
As the waves came lapping up and all the flames went dying down
It sank beneath the waves with the sheep and his proud crown.
early morning
as day blinked its eyes
I rowed a little dory out - smooth rivulets
behind me in the mirror surface
I stopped in the middle
wrapping the misty silence around me
straining to remember the
town as it had been
yes, it would be
about here - the cemetery -
they moved all the
graves they could before the deluge
but many remained
for age or obscurity's sake
it was there
she first kissed me
we went daily for the quietus and privacy
to do afternoon homework
(and split the atom)
there, friendship became ... more
like crocuses rushing to spring
we bloomed under the
brooding arms of a grumpy elm
branches twisting as if
to keep our callow sins a secret
so precious, those moments -
so ... distant
now - a flood and
a lifetime later - it all decayed
in the merciless murk ...
an entire town given to the abyss
for the thirst of a city
miles away
not a thought given to our
town's tragedy
no laurel laid upon these
somber depths
the feelings I
pondered there in stillness
had no precedent
half my life and countless memories
swimming far below
in unforgiving darkness -
homes, streets, schools, churches
gardens of stone ...
drowned for progress and
population
now, I committed
a like crime -
fishing my wallet from a corduroy pocket
I removed her photo from
its honored sheath
(where it had slept for years)
placed it ever-so-tenderly on the
lake's surface, and
watched it slowly lilt to the inky
depths, with my youth ...
and her memory.
~ For Jane Yolen ~
So thoughtfully busily going to the tomb
Were you enamored with words from the womb
Verbally gurgling did you succumb
Or did it come later in life
Likened to lightning spelling you under
Suddenly there before hearing the thunder
Rapidly vapidly words in your head
Were ringing and clamoring yet to be said
At work in your garden editing hedge
Trimming unwanted excess
It smacks of sedition this growing ambition
To put plants in orderly rowed inhibition
Sun reaching in silent distress
The beauty of discipline held up to view
In close captivated submission
In ranks and in rows uniformly disposed
Earthbound and holding attention
Yet openly Stubbornly free
They continue to grow.
To Flander's field poppies
And crosses akin
They are harvests of memory to reap
Promises planted to keep
I've Lifted My Oars
I've lifted my oars as I now drift along
I've rowed all my life now my strength is all gone
So I’ll drift through the mist and the shadow of time
Until nothing is left but the memory of mine
Though you might lose sight of my oars and my boat
My life will live on through the things that I wrote
So don’t grieve and don’t cry when I pass out of sight
We’ll meet once again on the light side of night
I don't usually write serious poetry but this was based on a beautiful picture I saw on Facebook and I could not resist. You saw the silhouette of a rowboat - the oars were out of the water and the boat was drifting into a blue mist.