Long Lake erie Poems
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Surfing You Tube, I come upon
“Til The World Ends” by
Three Dog Night. It was a lesser
hit of theirs from 1975, but
it always reminded me of you,
and that time we were
going to up to Lake Erie
between semesters.
I’d squandered my summer steel
mill cash on Black Russians,
and was nebulous about the trip
in a nimbus way. So, when you asked
me if it was about the money,
that night on my grandfather’s
front porch swing
---of course, it wasn’t---
So, we went to Lake Erie
for the time of our untold lives.
I can evoke “The Return of the Pink
Panther”, a yellow hair dryer,
and waking up from a particular nap.
But, given our model of
discourse, it is not
surprising that we didn’t
attain the apocryphal It
--despite our subsequent
engagement—
And that’s because life
is a business,
and we were a lemonade stand.
All of which is a cul de sac
looping back to those
three dog nights, which is an Eskimo
expression, some say, long before
Eli’s Coming, and Joy to the World,
referring to those coldest of nights
when it took three dogs on the bed to keep
us...and them... from freezing---
Symbiosis---to employ a more scientific
term where poetry doesn’t apply anymore.
“Til the World Ends” cracked the
Top 40 to number 32, the Dog’s
last hop upon the mattress. But
those soaring falsetto peals
on the fade out....Oh yes, that’s it.
I am cutting ties
that I knotted to a faraway soil.
Exiled no longer at the tiller
of a long beached fishing boat
that bobs only on the legends
of ancient waves.
Those fluent in soul-breathing,
the Celtic poets,
those wind-chiming lyricists,
are pulling me
to the bottom of Lake Erie
where drowned sea-captains still quote
what the Irish once wrote.
And here’s me, even today
caught by the mouth
from their linguistic fishhooks
yet cutting myself away.
I am a handmade citizen of a land
that is my own meat and gristle,
a subsoil am I
and my father and mother
the grubbing worm and the turtle dove.
Still Irish, but rootless
with no anchor in Galway Bay.
I have cut the trap lines
become a jobbing teller
of tall tales,
not a keeper of any traditions
planted by hands not of my own.
And if once in a while
I lapse into the sod and bog-speak
of my unlearned brethren
it is no literary affectation
of a better education,
for I remain this common creature
determined to be tied to a smaller rock
of my own choosing.
An alternate track is via Illinois River (from
Chicago), to Mississippi, up the Ohio, and then
through the Tennessee-Tombigbee Waterway
(combination of a series of rivers and lakes
and canals), to Mobile Bay and the Gulf.
Commercial tug-and-barge traffic on these waterways is heavy.
Pleasure boats can also enter or exit Great Lakes
by way of the Erie Canal and Hudson River in New York.
The Erie Canal connects to Great Lakes at
east end of Lake Erie (at Buffalo, New York) and
south side of Lake Ontario (at Oswego, New York).
Statistics:
The Great Lakes contain 21% of the world’s fresh surface water:
5,472 cubic miles (22,810 km3), or 6.0×1015 U.S.
gallons (2.3×1016 liters). This is enough water
to cover the 48 contiguous U.S. states to a uniform depth
of 9.5 feet (2.9 m).
Although the lakes contain
a large percentage of world's fresh water,
the Great Lakes supply only a small portion of
U.S. drinking water on a national basis (roughly 4.2%).
Winter 2009–10 was somewhat mild, the precipitation
was below normal for Great Lakes Basin.
Mean lake levels are thought to be slightly below or
at their levels of 2009. An ice jam in February 2010
dropped the level in Lake St. Clair. Since jelly roll more 'in jam
was removed the level has come back to its average.
As of March 2010, the lakes were at the level, or slightly
below, where they were in March 2009.
The combined surface area of the lakes is approximately
94,250 square miles (244,100 km2)—nearly
the same size as the United Kingdom, and larger
than U.S. states of New York, New Jersey, Connecticut,
Rhode Island, Massachusetts, Vermont, and New
Hampshire combined.The Great Lakes coast measures
approximately 10,500 miles (16,900 km);
however, the length of a coastline is impossible to measure
exactly and is not a well-defined.
They tease people
and undermine relationships
they thinks it's cute
always at odds
making things difficult for the people
it aint cute
-------------------------------------------------------
The Savants shall warn the people
of the wierds of many
they shall sppeak salvation
and will couple to be unioned
we shall not recognize there togetherness
and there unions shall be frowned upon.
Exactio Malo and Femalo's
spoke the feathered Savant
as all clapped and cheered.
_____________________________________________________
Then the day came when the aspiring People wished to marry
and the Savants laughed at there desire to
do so.
It was aparent that they were
to tease these people.
And the members of the resistance began cursing and circling
calling the elders needless and useless
they throw nuts and fruits
at them and lored them into the caves
tthere they put up a fence around the cave.
___________________________________________________________
Article from WayWard National
A Natures Magizine
"I Lived 10 Months with Savages"
By Calli Comeanie
South Dakota Cattle Publishing Co.
New Jersey, Oklahoma, Lake Erie
Offices across the World
Contact: The Mallard Mimick
Prime Rib and Tenderloin
AUTUMN
Dusk sets in.
Cool breeze filters through stones on the pier.
Distant lights of the city glare, opposed
By a sun of scarlet and orange
Disappearing through waves
Beckoned by the sand.
Trees nearly naked stand as soldiers
Behind the shore guarding the water
And its unending journey,
Moving only in rhythm with the wind.
Light gently fades
Dimming the horizon to nothingness.
WINTER
Frozen patterns of beauty
Scrawled as nature’s marking.
Crisp leaves of cold
Standing watch over a hardened lake.
Blanketing layers of ice
Coat the shore, silent save for the wind.
A setting sun gives of itself
The last warmth of the day,
A dying time as dark sets in,
Leaving cold bitterness, it drops
Below the horizon,
Chilling the flesh of the Village.
SPRING
Sunset casts its narrow ray across the water.
On the far horizon, the top of a sail slightly seen
With each swell of the waves then disappearing again.
Storm breeze chills at the touch of skin.
Violently waves approach
Battering rocks on the pier.
Breaking high,
Surf mists couples as they watch
Feeling water cling to their clothes.
SUMMER
Sun sets in the west
Where children yearn for their freedom.
Shadows resist the streetlamp’s glow,
Drawing insects in the haze.
Warm and damp, silence shades the town.
Liquor bottles replace the nourishment of mother’s milk,
Graduate potions for the poisonous dark,
Where the children congregate
Awaiting the weekend’s potential.
END OF SUMMER
Help me bring our boat ashore
And stow away the sails.
You’ve shown me trust in a human heart,
And taught how friends can share their warmth,
If only for a little while.
I don’t wish these days to end,
But different dreams we’ve drawn in the sand
And carved in these stoic cliff walls.
We must now follow our separate paths.
Summer’s over, it’s time to part
And return this ship to pier.
Huntington Beach Sunset first published in High Tide Still Heart: Collection of Shells, Solitude & Ocean Rhythm, Blue Crystal Literary Magazine, 2026, all rights reserved. ISBN 106727832X
This poem is dedicated to Cleveland’s own … “Barley House” Thank you for your symbolism of the “White Rose” – “A love and deep respect / everlasting devotion and loyalty to the people you serve...
For 11 years I stepped into an establishment of tables, chairs, and wooden floors…
A true spirit of hospitality, humanity, and Family… The model place that has bypassed many setbacks of
unforeseen storms, battles, and wars…
And
A true testament of your
motivation, strength, and adoration.
So
From your best team players…
(The Cleveland Cavaliers, Browns, Indians, Lake Erie Monsters, and many others...)
We all thank you for your hard work, support
And
Never-ending favors.
For I give you your flowers…
(Corey, Bobby, Joe, and Chris) …The ones that have made a
Huge impact …
From historical and economic facts…
Here I stand…
As a witness
And your Bathroom Attendant…
“House Mom Kat”.
And lastly…
I thank and appreciate all that you do…
So
Continue to absorb the sunshine and the light
My champions…
Continue to go with the flow
Of greatness… And go with God’s
Wind that blows …
My 4 petals’ on the
Stem of “MY WHITE ROSE”.
Death By Murder:
Murky water left to drink
floating particles of death.
Erie presence leaves discontent.
As something wicked floats in it.
The bone chilling cold wind doth blow
off Lake Erie with flurry snow.
Late at night off cold dark shores
shadows of a floating barge.
Clouds of soot from steamers clogged
Pollutes the air with killer smog.
When something wicked this way flows
poverty on desperate corners pose.
Perverts prey on angry streets
Homeless children on which they creep.
Desperately at the mercy of,
as something wicked this way comes
Young ones get plucked,like sweet ripe plumbs
As something wicked this way comes
.
Contaminated, where no herbs could purge her
Strictly becomes death by murder.
Others with blood dripping from lips
Every scary thing flung and flipped
No caring soul feels to investigate
As vampires odors fumigate
There's no friend to even extend
a stick to beat the bush or defend
The evil deeds that ignorance brings
desecrates the graves of all good men
We make loud noises and pretend;
While something evil this way spins.
The screams are loud but know one heard her
Ignored are cries upon lake Erie's borders
Spores that spawn.. these deaths by murder.
From the Ohio River to the Great Lake Erie.
If they come from Cleveland, or south in Cincinnati,
these talented persons’ works are the ones we should see.
They have written some of this site’s greatest poetry.
They may live in the cities of Canton or Akron;
or perhaps in Columbus, Youngstown, or in Dayton.
They also come from many smaller towns in between.
They’ve written some of the best poetry I have seen.
Many of these folks have graduated from college.
Those that have not still possess incredible knowledge.
To them, poetry is both a science and an art.
Our Ohio members are all naturally smart.
My father my friend,
My teacher my preacher,
My comfort and security.
When I was a child he used to take me sailing on Lake Erie.
It was so awesome to be in the presence of this great man.
Quiet, intelligent always teaching by example.
I put him on a pedestal and he never fell.
My father my friend
Always there for me
No matter how hard.
Never a question or look, always helping me to cope.
When I was a child I used to watch him carefully cut stained glass.
Cutting and soldering creating these beautiful colorful lamps.
He was an artist and extremely smart.
He gave me my values he gave me my start.
My father my friend
I will always love you and you will always love me.
Even if I can’t see you or hear you, I feel you.
You talk to me but not verbally.
Everything we’ve ever done together
Everything about you
I am you
Thank you!
If you look closely, you will see
the masterpiece Winter painted
along mighty Erie’s shore
in the darkness, well into the early morning light.
You will see his fondness for delicate shades of gray,
How one by one he bends and sheaths the tall ornamental grass
in rounded silvery whiteness, and
how he paints ripply footprints at the water’s edge.
If you look closely, you will see
the fluttering gulls in the distance,
Seemingly small, yet not insignificant,
Every detail a pixel of life.
There’s more, if you look closer,
If you’re willing to brazen the biting wind,
Like the pile of jagged sticks, and mossy green rocks from summer,
Now a single creamy white ice sculpture.
And if you hold your eyes and heart wide open,
you can read the painter’s signature
written in the battleship gray sky—
December