This woodland stream could be a small English river,
it dibbles and dabbles, it meanders, and has the air
of an old water way, one that never saw the need
to rush or gush.
The small ripples pace themselves; a sepia rivulet
that tugs at a nutrient silt, carrying it down gently
to green pastures.
In autumn the fallen leaves add ocher flotillas
that sail into valley mists, never to return.
April showers refresh the brook,
it waltzes between tufted hillocks,
glides almost giddily between sky and earth.
If the path of the water flow has a name
it is known only to grazing cattle,
that drink of it,
and the meadow lark
that hovers high above the little beck
to sing of its native wandering ways.
Categories:
flotillas, poetry,
Form: Free verse
The Spanish had armadas;
the Americas, flotillas.
The Amazon has capybara;
the Andes has chinchillas.
Kentucky has its sassafras;
Madagascar has vanilla.
Napoleon lost at Waterloo;
Frazier, in Manila.
Will a person tell the Mexicans
how to pronounce tortilla?
Categories:
flotillas, silly,
Form: Rhyme
A thunderstorm passed over,
gun turrets flash.
gray hulls rumble and roll
above tumultuous clouds.
Evening commences to weep -
an aftermath,
a damp emotive capsizing
that barely touches upturned faces
yet it splashes fright onto brows.
As seafaring battles go
it was a skirmish,
flotillas of cruisers awash from
near misses.
They sailed away
leaving this whittling rain,
a backwash of electric jism,
the distant sound
of sailors shouting for rum.
Behind our eyes
deaf fish mouth deaf bubbles.
Ozone spumes against inner ears.
The wake of the storm
sponges, damps down,
slowly drips
into a salty bucket
of silence.
Categories:
flotillas, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Pointedly poignant points portend pointillism.
Pontiffs pontificate pointless pointers ponderously.
Pompous poems populate Pompei pottery potently.
Porous *********** portrays Portuguese porta potties.
Poppies pop Popeye’s popular popcorn.
Populist populism pots ponies properly.
Blithering blather blots bloody bleeping blips.
Bloomberg blogs bleach bleating bloated blinks.
Bluebloods bloom black blackberry bloopers.
Bluetooth blizzards blame blurry blackboards.
Blithe blighted bladders blatantly block blades.
Blazing blasts bleed blooming blenders.
Fumbling fumes funerals fast.
Feuding fluid furniture flutters flaps.
Fighting flatulent flamingos flounder.
Floating flotillas flee flying flops.
Families foment future futile forms.
Freaky frozen French fries frighten frogs.
Categories:
flotillas, funny, humor, humorous, joy,
Form: Light Verse
A thunderstorm passed over,
gun turrets flash.
gray hulls rumble and roll
above tumultuous clouds.
Evening commences to weep -
an aftermath,
a damp emotive capsizing
that barely touches upturned faces
yet it washes fright from brows.
As seafaring battles go
it was a skirmish,
flotillas of cruisers awash from
near misses;
they sailed away
leaving this whittling rain,
a backwash of electric jism,
the distant sound
of sailors shouting for rum.
Behind our eyes
deaf fish mouth deaf bubbles.
Sea legs are braced against
peripheral nerves.
Ozone spumes against inner ears.
The wake of the storm
mutes and tingles, damps down
as it slowly drips
into a salty bucket
of silence.
Categories:
flotillas, poetry,
Form: Free verse
[starboard port]
the ocean—an onyx plate predawn—
somnambulant ships preen with a swag of
warning lights
massive hulls: cargo ships, flotillas, tankers,
passenger liners loll; red lights buss
the somber slate of sky—spangled strings of
bawdy bulbs on the riggings—pole dance
beside the quay—ridged, behemoth smokestacks
toy with the flames of gold and white
[cabin’s lav—occupied]
waiting, my mind trundles to funeral pyres
Viking ships, then returns to marvel at
on-coming airport pot lights which
upstage the walled gasps
[very occupied]
the exodus to Singapore crescendos
we land—manned the plane performs
a ritual slide—ash and steam spew from
stacks of the other perpendicular
members
Touch down.
[the door opens]
First Published by Shooter Literary Magazine Spring of 2017
Categories:
flotillas, love,
Form: Free verse
This Regency Dandy flying across the river,
Jumping Jack Flash of kingfisher blue that
I was lucky t see, this dainty dandy of English rivers and streams.
A compact colourful apparition my sore eyes waited some
Sixty years to see, others boast much earlier visitations of these
Bluish-green, orange and red feathers attached to a Cyrano De Bergerac
rapier beak,
Outshining the honking harrying flotillas of Canada geese not capable of
Competing with this fisher of minnows, as we strolled across the Georgian
Bridge at Blatherwycke straddling the nonchalant flowing Nene of this
shire of shires,
Now of only one squire, but still many fine spires in this shire of Northampton.
Categories:
flotillas, bird,
Form: Free verse
In passing, the waters cleave the landscape heart,
Taking on their travel, in their course, parts of the land;
In passing, we hikers in that current,
Return to the seas and become as the sand.
In passing, the winds weave through the mountains,
Collecting in their pockets, on their way, bits of the trees;
In passing, us leaves and twigs in the slipstream,
Are borne far away to where nobody sees.
In passing, the hours sail through the vibrant decades,
Flotillas of our memories, in their wake, define the past,
In passing, these days are a collage of wonder,
Precious and beloved from the first until the last.
In passing, a woman, mother for all seasons,
Takes with her for company the prayers of her kind,
In passing, she visited that which lives beyond dying
Her love for the lives she now leaves behind.
In passing, we are but the fine grains of sand,
Taking with us nought material as we drift to the stars,
In passing, what do we leave if we cannot leave our love?
For love is all that we remain to that which once was ours.
Julia, in loving memory
Categories:
flotillas, death, life, love, philosophy,
Form: Verse