inland waterway
I joined the rowing boat in the middle of the dry lake
when a dust storm came whirling around screaming nasty words
and the shoreline disappeared.
The captain came down from the bridge wan ted his lunch
but he had to wait till the wind stopped which it did
in the afternoon.
I walked ashore, at the cafe the knew about the order
the captain had sent a text message.
I eat the food here,I said no point wrapping it up-
Driving home helicopters were using my lake as a training ground
no, there would not be an inland waterway here
no matter how much it rains the lake will only be a soggy hole
but how to explain this to the captain.
The Inland Algarve
The landscape is so oddly shaped.
Had once been a domestic landscape,
where the scent of wild herbs and the whisper
The wind through olive branches told stories of past lives,
Walking along a narrow cartwheel
Tracks I often come across the remnant
Of dwellings that once had housed
Poverty-stricken people who had
Ploughed small and reluctant fields
Olive trees had grown wild and tall
Bearing bitter fruit.
Some walls had no purpose, sinking.
Back to earth, becoming rocks again.
A haunted landscape in the inland Algarve,
a region rich with a history of Moorish influence
and traditional farming,
Algarve, and no one saw it doomed
Beauty.
Rabbits and boars peacefully roam, embodying
the natural serenity that still whispers through the land.
And sheep grazed in the gloaming.
Stillness, yet I sensed voices that once
Had loved and lived struggling
Against poverty and early death.
Smell of jazmine mixed
with fishy waters.
Smell of something missed
long time ago.
Listening to the seagulls
squawking in the morning
brings me back to my ocean.
Three days out from the inland,
I faced happiness again.
Three days with my windows open
to the Atlantic, It reminds me I'm a fish
caught in a strange net.
Three days walking on the seashore
woke my dark mind up.
Enchanted with your modesty,
I fell in your arms again.
Illuminated by your gratitude,
I will be dying without you.
Now, again in the inland,
I will always miss the seagulls
when I get up, the ones that can be nasty,
but the ones that feed my breathing everyday.
Married to the seagulls I am,
with or without them in my Atlantic home.
Inland swimming pool.
Between two hills, a chasm, in winters rain fills up the gap
a lake is born, in May, June and the middle of July the water
is fine, if a bit greying.
The lake has no outlet and is used by farmers for their crops
if there is scant rain.
In August, the lake is silty, but it is the only swimming pool
we have, we sit by the bank drink beer watch children play
it is our day at the beach.
When the lake is dry, we find skeletons of animals and
that of a missing person who went swimming in the night.
Although we say next year, we are going to the beach
we do not it is too far away and crowded.
This year the rural idyll was shattered the dog sensed danger
something behind it swam wildly to shore.
As the owner of the canine lifted it out of the water, a monster
bits the dog in half, so much blood and distress.
As there is little one can do with half a dog, the owner threw
the remains into the water where it was snapped up by what was
described as an enormous reptile with a shark-like mouth.
The lake is a silent malevolent eye in the blissful landscape.
This year we are going to the seaside.
Water is deepest
in the middle of the lake
as rain keeps falling.
inland waterway
I joined the rowing boat in the middle of the dry lake
when a dust storm came whirling around screaming nasty words
and the shoreline disappeared.
The captain came down from the bridge wanted his lunch
but he had to wait till the wind stopped which it did
in the afternoon.
I walked ashore, at the cafe, they knew about the order
the captain had sent a text message.
I eat the food here, and I said no point wrapping it up-
Driving home helicopters were using my lake as a training ground
no, there would not be an inland waterway here
no matter how much it rains the lake will only be a soggy hole
but how to explain this to the captain.
Inland mirror glance
Midlife soul, crisis pending
Journeys to fathom
The Inland Algarve
The landscape so oddly shaped
Had once been a domestic landscape
Walking along narrow cart-wheel
Tracks I often come across the remnant
Of dwellings that once had housed
Poverty-stricken people who had
Ploughed small and reluctant fields
Olive trees had grown wild and tall
Bearing bitter fruit.
Sone walls had no purpose sinking
Back to earth becoming rocks again.
A haunted landscape in the inland
Algarve and no one saw it doomed
Beauty.
Rabbits and boars dominated in peace
And sheep grazed in the glooming.
Stillness yet I sensed voices that once
Had loved and lived struggling
Against poverty and early death.
I hear the distinctive cry of seagulls
Although I am far from the sea
In my imagination I see
A violent sea, with crashing waves
Spray raining down onto the promenade
Fishermen stranded in their boats, awaiting rescue
The lifeboat traversing it’s ramp into the sea
Wheeling seagulls caterwaul to each other
“Today, the fish are too deep to catch,
We need to eat – let’s fly inland
And scavenge instead of fishing”.
INLAND
stoking the flame
here for the ride
sum of our parts
beat of our hearts
goldfish approach
swimming afloat
lost in vast lands
building on sand
inland
happiness waits
pledged sanity
hitting the keys
musical three’s
pose-able you
in cloudy skies
personal brand
alone we stand
inland
© Kim van Breda—26 January 2015
An inland bay
In deafness she senses the pounding surf,
Imagines its piercing roar,
While remembered still is the time and place
About an inland bay
For dreams fall apart when the voices die
Yet there were no tears remaining to cry,
But through the ebb and flow of days
Echoes still silent lay
And what retains the placid flow.
In the darkness of this rocky cove,
For here the sound of a distant voice
Did pass by long ago
Softly cast beneath sunlit rays
The blow of a western wind,
Like a chill that hints of autumns birth
In a place so far from home
Swiftly passes a voiceless call
In a land when shadows quiet call;
Like the night that comes as days depart
About the calm of an inland bay
By m.n.
[email protected]
Cod Fish in Aus
Lines are set to catch a cod
Spring sticks an 100 lb of cord
Shark hook with a wire trace
he’s taken line an rod this ace
but no it is not odd
deep pools is where cod do lurk
he stole the rod of fat Mac Gurk
he tried to shoot him, got the boat
near to drown in old great coat
no it did not work
a cod was lifted by young Jim
a pelican showered him
blinded by the vapor trail
he held the cod fish lost the tail
lost fish an awful sin
Don Johnson attempting a Limerick :)
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