Best Sloops Poems

Let me 'neath fleecy clouds be. For spring is here.
God's creation all for me. For spring is here.

So many glorious gardens to admire,
Clematis attracts a bee. For spring is here.

Aubrietia produced in profusion,
Scented Daphne in valley. For spring is here.

Up in the mountains, veiled with...

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“... The closeness of the place and the heat of the climate, 
        added to the number in the ship which was so crowded 
        that each had scarcely room to...

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6978 is not but a date, I once visited a place, and it was not the Pearly Gates!

There were no blue seas, or boats about!  There were no palm trees, or heavenly dreams!  There was an old swinging bridge, that was boarded all...

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Cast off the mooring ropes at bow and stern
Head out into the early morning mist
Hoist the big mainsail, free the jib, and turn
Feeling the filling canvas make her list

The venerable diesel chugs and splutters
Its smoky wraith lingering in our wake
We weave our way between sloops...

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We shall plunder your ship 
an old ship of our line.
Dare you fight
This, Ninty-pounder might.

On your trail were
our sloops alright.
Ahoy says my lieutenant.
We have you in sights.

Fifty four on two decks 
Like a corvette’s disenchanted ride.
Aligned are our sails as fear dragoons
A point to the...

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“Freeze your nuts off”
What a gray, gray day at Lake Norman
the worst weekend for a first regatta
our sloops were plastic toy boats in a toddler’s bathwater
and we the hapless Lego men
the November wind screamed through my windbreaker, 
which could not keep my quivering body warm...

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I rowed from Cambridge where
my scull was slapped by the wake
of the long boats from MIT and Harvard

then   dodged the hodgepodge of
tiny sloops in the lower basin
competing and sharing the venue

along the bank   in my "own" space
    I...

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If only I could bring back the days
when I was twenty-one,
and could choose
who I wanted to be with
until eternity,
I would definitely pick a poet.

A poet:

who could make brown leaves
into green,
who could bloom drought dried
flowers,
who could make haunted woods
a castle,
who could change my tears to
sweetwater,
who could...

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On the bay the wind is scurrying
along its flock of waves,
with white crests honey combed, 
to flip over their edges,
on blue foreheads.

The bow of the yacht slices 
through the waves driven by the wind
in the sails, rattling the rigging, 
heeling the boat over,
relenting to force...

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