Captain mouse steered his motorboat around the bend
Enchanted Forest and inlet stream did not seem to end
he felt sorry for others who have neither freedom or boat
He let his steed idle, enjoying the river as they continued to float
The most important
Fine drizzle over the bay, falling slowly and hesitantly
as preparing for a proper deluge
Who knows, perhaps it will not happen, and the sun
will shine even if it is a day older
Dry slippery cobblestone pavements for the aged
Since it is Saturday, the ships' tugs are at their anchorage.
as they want to be nearer the shore
One vessel has run out of meat and potatoes, a stable
Diet, the chief steward, had bought a lot of cakes
because he was depressed at the time and needed
cheering up
To mollify the crew, he told of a famous woman who
said when the people were hungry, "let them eat cakes."
The crew didn't think that was funny and threatened
to throw him overboard
From the shore came a motorboat loaded with pears
oranges and cabbage, but no potatoes and no meat
The chief steward was trying to swim ashore
Peace
A glorious morning in the bay of Cascais
seven coastal ships on a mirror.
Stilleben
Sunday, the crew are asleep
except for a cook who is up preparing
breakfast
This could be a picture of eternity
but a small motorboat breaks the mirror
leaves a white scar that heals itself
The sky is softly blue, and white clouds are
sun-flecked and in no haste going anywhere
on this day of bliss
In the hot A-Ga-Ming night
My wife and I skip the July 4th fireworks
At the sandbar down south on long Torch Lake
Start our own shoreline fire
Count the red electrified dorsal fins
Of the motorboat salmon swimming upstream
Migrating home from the explosions in the sky
20, 50, 80 a hundred 200 in an hour
Rainbow tsunami
Our dock leans rickety to the covenant
Lake soothes its wrinkles when the madness is over
Our souls sit back in decrescendo
Take a deep breath
To the cows mooing
Pastures away on Cairn Highway
Like foghorns from the lighthouse perched on the moon
While picking machines convulse in the cherry orchards
Tree by tree to trampolines
Whining mosquitoes if our ears were the hills
Moon slips behind the blueberry clouds
Campfire snaps its fingers for attention
A cricket chirps just outside our circle of radiant rocks
I planted decades ago
Every year he’s here too
Chirping
Chirping
To the embers of the universe
Until he isn’t.
When Johnny guzzled three ice-cold beers
There dawned on him a feeling of fear
He fled, but he couldn't hide
Crossed a river a mile wide
Burned out his motor ~ all in first gear
A baby cries, the ferry toots;
A dog will not stop yapping.
A sparrow chirps, the traffic hums;
A flag is gently flapping.
A jogger’s footfalls pound the path;
A motorboat goes chugging.
A barge, though large, makes quiet splashes
With its tugboat tugging.
Bits of conversations drift;
A radio starts blasting.
Urban peace is something that
You cannot count on lasting.
Still, out on the esplanade,
In sunshine, all is pretty,
As here I sit and listen to
The soundtrack of the city.
The Slight Light of the Moon
David J Walker
Everyone is in
Everyone is done
Everyone
under the sun
is in the same boat
It’s a big boat
It’s a tugboat
It’s a lifeboat
That won’t float
On Solipsism’s alone
It’s an
Oceanliner the color of
October with a canoe
And an outboard motorboat
Lost on an ocean stretching
As far across the Milky Way as
The naked eye …
Oh say, can you see, anything
Beyond vituperate inflictions
Fired from the big guns
From the map of a compendiums instructions
The first-rate illustrations are
Lost in Space and Time
The Big Boat is mine
The small boat is fine
But it’s yours
Everyone on the dreamboat
Will slowly float
Into the slight light of
The moon
The scent of marijuana wafts
Right by me on the air.
I do not see the smoker and
I really do not care.
A motorboat is bouncing
On the river; it its wake
Two jet ski riders race on by,
Like winning is at stake.
The ferries pick up passengers,
Discharge the ones on board.
Some swallows swoop past people’s heads
But mostly, they’re ignored.
As runners jog and cycles roll
And exercisers walk,
I sit and watch the human stream
That flows here in New Yawk.
The city’s lost some sizzle
And may not regain its glow,
But when I sit by the river,
It’s the city that I know.
The Easter Butt, the Easter Butt
Put Away Your Booze and Smut
Kiss your Spouse and Hug your Mutt
And Motorboat the Easter Butt.
The man remembered
He had been a popular TV entertainer, written a book
and sang his songs we could all understand.
He was tall, looked heroic, sort old Vikings we hoped
they had looked like.
but most of all he had a left-behinds song called
“Amanda”
Which was about a motorboat but had to come
to symbolize the suffering womanhood of the world.
He set out to find the song up a mountain of bad
the poetry he climbed, through a plateau of forgotten
Musicals, across a lake of a petrified sea- shanties
And rhyming verses,
He found Emma in s grotto, in a globe of shiny
Diamonds, the immortal words a honeyed song
of a motorboat.
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.
A spacious cottage by the beautiful lake,
Place where a boyfriend and girlfriend could live together.
Get up in the morning and see the beautiful sunrise each day,
Breakfast on the terrace where you have an overview of the cottage country.
A swim in the supervised lake,
Picnic lunch with sandwiches, potato salad and refreshments.
Romantic walks along the beach with your chosen companion,
Watching the sunset each evening together.
Cruising in a yacht or motorboat, boating in a canoe or row boat,
The fresh breeze caressing your face, learning to steer the ship.
Talking to the neighbors and making friends,
Cooking marsh mellows over the campfire,
Cooking hamburgers with relish, mustard and onions,and buns,
A lifestyle worth remembering.
As a retiree you could stay there forever,
Happiness at your favorite cottage paradise with God's permission..
Author: Gwen von Erlach Schutz
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