ALL JUST IN ONE DAY
MITCH, NOT TODAY TOLLS OK
MAINE WRONG GUY THEY SAY
IS NOT PLANTERS NUTS
BUT PLATNER LOOKING LIKE A PUTZ
DEMS COVERING BUTTS
rugged wave battered
rocky coast of Maine
ships easily smashed
in to kindling
cold Labrador current
sweeping down from Canada
claims many lives
sixty-five lighthouses built
from Lobster Point in the south
to Whitlock’s Mill in the north
bass fog horns and
flashing lights
guide the sailors
home from the sea
How beautiful the lilacs grow
How ethereal their scent
Their colors from purple to pink and blue
and white like New England snow.
How beautiful the lilacs grow.
How beautiful they grow.
Noelle Cottage straddles ledges of grey,
Extending into waters of Casio Bay,
Along Small Point’s shoreline of Atlantic Ocean,
Observing forest, sky, and ocean devotion.
Feathered fliers: Osprey, Sea Gull, and Eagle,
Their diet all favorites and everything legal,
Overhead wing-singing their various tunes,
Hunt above beaches near sandy, beige dunes.
Noelle Cottage awaits - at the end of Shore Road
Where sea-salty breezes generally flow,
Among acres of Fir, Birch, Maple, and Pine,
Awakening fond memories obscure in time.
Life by the sea is always a challenge.
Happiness there’s a joyous challenge to manage.
Horn Horrible Maine Haiku
when he would take aim
kill became terrible game
had received the blame
never gave a hoot
to death some people did shoot
would wear a brown boot
cannot bring them back
love and mental skills did lack
he had blown his stack
heard them when they bowl
their life away killer stole
death out he did dole
a sad song was sung
dying breath was on his tongue
death around had hung
possible motivate
was to not let others live
death to them did give
result a sad site
killed himself removing blight
shed tears day and night
James Truthful Honorable Horn
(Thomas)
Bar Harbor
Bah Habah is how they say it in Maine.
The cool summer breezes wash over the town.
Sailboats ride at rest waiting patiently at their moorings.
Lobstah fishermen load their traps, hoping for a prize haul.
Ospreys and seals vie for the best fish.
Acadia National Park beckons bikers and hikers.
Icy waters from the Labrador Current will chill the body,
The view from Cadillac Mountain will thrill the soul.
Tourists feast on the fresh sea harvest, followed by Indian pudding.
Ahh, Bah Habah in the summah!!!
Maine Coon Cat
stands at dining table
checking my plate
A young man who said he was broke
Went begging the streets for a smoke
But this was a pain
For he was in Maine
Where everyone there is quite woke
******************* Beaver Stick
Pointed on both ends
the sweet parts have been eaten
the kits dont eat first
GINSU-KNIFE EASTPORT , MAINE USA
.............. Heat
pine maple and old oak
sticks for the woodstove
the flame is my life
GINSU-KNIFE EASTPORT , MAINE USA
I like living in the forest.
The firewood seems to be lieing on side the road for me.
Free heat , OK Water from the spring for coffee and tea
is hard to beat.
Pine scented air clears the head.
Seaweed washes up on shore for the gardens.
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This bowl of lobster shells
looks very pretty
and yet so sad.
The bright red carcasses
all cracked and emptied out
have served me well
with their luscious innards
of tender sweet flesh
unctuous with brine and butter
that sated me
and gratified
my deep-sea desires
for this ultimate
New England joyance
on this
muggy Summer day.
If I had
any ambition left,
I'd dump these
scarlet remnants
into a big ol' pot
and toss in
onions,
bay leaves
and peppercorns
for a savory
perfumed stock.
But for now
I'm glued
to my chair
happily lobster drunk
and in a buttery haze
and licking my
salty fingers
for any last residue
of that
resplendent crustacean
now reduced
to a heap of shells
in an old glazed bowl
on a lemon-yellow afternoon
somewhere on the coast
wondering how long
I can last
until the feeling
comes again
and I don my old stained bib
and haul out
the nutcracker and pick
and get the butter drawn
for another
Homarus americanus
adventure
and find myself
staring down
a new warm mound
of cracked and emptied
lobster shells.
a vulgar morning
unveiling the naked fragrance of sun-burnt dog turds.
It came to me,
played tunes on the cords in my nostrils
until my left eye caught them hiding
by the roots of loblolly pines.
The poor trees, their trunks still wet where about two
bladders were emptied at daybreak.
The turds, seared like good scallops, made me think
of Bangor and Lewiston;
I saw a big woman beat two conches to make a salad.
I am no ordinary man;
twenty heads of cows made me think of a fleet of oilers & tankers.
I saw a Jew in a shtreimel,
I thought of Presque Isle where the sun stayed in my hair
except at night when the earth turned away.
There once was a lady from Maine
Whose fiancé drove her insane
They all called him Fred
He slept in his sled
His dogs howled again and again
Well she shot him twice in the head
The doctor said he was quite dead
The sheriff said, "Belle",
"I don't think you're well -
"You could use a nice feather bed."
2-3-2020
Contest: Your Best New Limerick
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
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