Long Canoe Poems
Long Canoe Poems. Below are the most popular long Canoe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Canoe poems by poem length and keyword.
Go have adventures,
don’t rot in your home,
go have adventures,
you were born to roam.
Go climb a mountain
and drink in the view,
see all of the world
unfold beneath you.
Go rent a kayak
and paddle the lakes,
a canoe or tube
would also be great.
Go ride a mustang
across countryside,
playing a cowboy
makes you feel alive.
Go swing a bit bat
and make some contact,
clear the damn fences
and marvel at that.
Go to a broad slope
and strap on some skis,
it’s just like flying
so joyous and free.
Go to a theme park,
take the kids along,
waterslides, coasters
can never be wrong.
Go live a real life,
step back from the screen,
you all work for it
so live out your dreams.
Go have adventures,
don’t rot in your home,
go have adventures,
you were born to roam.
Riding Water Rapids
New York State Adirondack Mountains
Beauty and Charm
Lakes, Rivers and Waterfalls
Observing Water Rapids Saulteaux
The thought of challenging Fear
Conquering the Water Rapids in preserver
Courage through assurance
Faith enriching endurance
Canoe and venture
Close to nature
As I pulled the canoe from the pier
Determined to fulfill
My mind on God’s will
I had to do this
Hit or miss
The canoe drifted into smooth then rough waters
It was hitting against rocks below
I had worry within
That was my scare then
Adventurous on every sense of the word
Determination with a promise
No defeat until Victory
Achieved and Accomplished
Rode the Water Rapids
Confident and Brave
Success being a story
A behold
Rapidity
I not sure I’ll renew my poet’s license this
year, most of the keepers have been kept
with the biggest ones caught, stuffed and hung
on the walls of tumbledown fishing lodges.
Although there are rumors, that the big one
Bishop caught and released back in 1946
still swims somewhere in the dark waters
between Nova Scotia and Massachusetts.
These days, Brautigan would have to wade
much further upstream to go trout fishing in
America as bass have taken over the lower
reaches, which have warmed due to climate
change, aided and abetted by ATV's SUVs,
Jet Skis and those monster Bass Boats
with their three hundred horsepower engines
which race across the waters in those TV Bass
Fishing Tourneys, even though I must admit I
I sometimes watch them in the channel’s free month.
but now I must paddle and haul my canoe over three
portages to find cool water and a bit of peace and quiet.
Then too, poetry isn’t what it used to be
with rhyme, rhythm and form relegated
to dusty archives in lonely libraries.
Nowadays, everything is computers and
online, with pen and paper abandoned, as
Instant Instagram Poets proclaim over this
“new” medium, spouting their infantile
insights regarding the mysteries of life
and love into an existential echo chamber,
leaving us unpublished old poets grumbling
in our garrets as we scribble by candlelight.
.
Ladies please take note
this is a massage for
the little man in the boat.
To whom so much of myself
I willingly devote.
I hope you understand,
the way you melt in my mouth
and not in my hand.
I am forever
your number one fan.
You spend more time
than any dentist,
looking down my throat.
And I have to admit,
I've always admired your boat.
From the first time
you taught me what to do.
We had fun like teenagers
skinny dipping in your canoe.
As I became the engine
to your motorboat,
you laugh whenever a hair
gets caught in my throat.
You say I'm doing it right
when I can't breath.
I thought it was funny
the first time I sneezed.
Beneath the high cliff, a river flowed,
Just near a bridge across a wide road.
On the other side of the river
A sandy beach stretched wide forever.
A canoe appeared just you and me,
We dragged the canoe on pebbles-free.
We saw a willow that gave us shade.
Just you and I in bathing suits stayed.
We talked and planned our prospective life.
Suddenly we found a bit of strife.
A bear came nosing in our canoe
In search of food, most birds away flew.
Bear went away, the canoe useless.
Killing the bear I would be ruthless.
We dressed just me and you, called the guard.
Soon he came and gave him a reward.
Next day we met, you and I, alone.
But in a garden in a soft tone
So we talked a lot, just you and I,
I gave her a ring and did she cry!
That's the story of just you and I
Placed 1
Estonia is a country on the shores of the Baltic Sea
the smallest country in Northern Europe
with a fifth season . . .
a predictable period after winter and before spring
that takes place every year
when flooding submerges forests, the land and homes
with miles and miles of vast moving water
Estonia's Soomaa National Park is a magical place
to experience this fifth season
using water highways knowing the danger
but with excitement
floating among the trees by canoe
in a drowned world
of swamped meadows and vast forests
where woodpeckers knock on trees
and flowers still poke out of the water
in this haunting landscape of Estonia's fifth season
and then, the water seeps away. . .
________________________
November 07, 2022
Poetry/Free Verse/Estonia's Fifth Season
Copyright Protected, ID 11-1499-667-07
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance L France
Written for the Premiere contest, The Fifth Season
sponsor, Anthony Biaanco, Judged 11/14/2022
In the gray dawn, ghostlike,
A mist rises over the lake
Like a floating whisper.
My shorts and tee shirt
Are damp and clammy
From hanging on the bedpost
Near the open window.
The dock is slippery, and
The yellow kayak slips
Soundlessly into the water.
The paddle barely ripples
The breathless surface.
I am adrift in my imagination.
I am a loon, skimming
The water with its haunting cry.
I am the Indian Hiawatha
In his birchbark canoe.
I am Jacques Marquette,
Exploring the Mississippi River,
Watching for Indians.
I am a lone leaf, drifting.
I am the wind and the air
And the thick gray fog.
I am the water itself,
Calm on the surface but
Teeming with life, as it
Wends its way to the sea.
I am the wind and the rain,
The sun and the clouds.
I am all things in this
Haunting, misty world.
As the fog slowly lifts,
Lightens, and turns golden,
I slip back into myself and
Paddle toward the shore.
If you Can't Beat the Mosquitoes
By Franklin Price
1/11/2016
If you can't beat the mosquitoes
And you're at the drive-in show
Just grab a Pic at the snack bar
Light it up and watch it glow
Sit it on your dash board
Watch the smoke come off the ring
The mosquitoes soon are gone
'Cause they can't stand that thing
Now settle back and watch the show
The speaker's on your door
Your arm's around that special girl
You hope she thinks you're not a bore
She would not have accepted
When you asked her on this date
Especially not to the drive-in
If she thought you were second rate
You teeth are brushed your breath is fresh
Canoe is on your face
You're as ready as you'll ever be
In the car and at this place
So close you feel her breathing
Smell the perfume from her skin
You know you want to kiss her
Where oh where should you begin?
Move your hand a little lower
A little farther towards her chest
The pic went out the mosquito's back
He bit your hand that little pest!
Th mood is lost your hand it smarts
And now what will you do?
Relight the pic to smoke again
And start your date anew
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^
We are at the junction of the Little River and the Ottawa River,
journeying into the Canadian wilderness by canoe, the
paddles stroke slowly into the water, paddles heavily incised
with vines and flowers, and I am dipping my hair into the deep blue.
Spirit, is a native man in a crisp white shirt, his head shaved
but for one braid with feathers, his blue leggings enthrall
me, intricate beaded moccasins are sublime, his leather
pouch and glass jewelry lovely, I think I love him . . .
Falcon, a beautiful man with raven hair falling down his back,
his feathers are fluttering in the wind, he has dangling earrings,
a red cape edged with gold threads, his beads are exquisite,
and he is telling me stories and smiling at me . . .
I could love him, and I am dipping my hair into the deep blue.
O, how can this Ojibwa girl choose, I love them both . . .
I truly do, but luckily for me this is a dream and I can love both.
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^
_____________________
December 10, 2012
Poetry/Narrative/A Dream Comes Floating
Copyright Protected, ID 12-441-915-10
All Rights Reserved, 2012, Constance La France
"There'll be a zealous zephyr
that isn't tamed by time;
I'll be the lunar princess,
and the ship of faith shall sail,
upon milky seas of my iris.
Breathing stars, I'll devour the universe,
being an empyrean saga
of wisdom and sacrifice,
that rules the world..."
Copyright © Hiya Sharma | Year Posted 2024
"There will be beauty on the wind
that can't be bought nor sold;
I'll be the King of the Universe,
and the canoe that glides you home,
shall fill the deep blue seas of your soul.
Breathing moons, that seize your heart,
being an Empress of the Universe
of Mercy and Grace,
all of which, rules the world..
By Mystic Rose