“Now Ben,
if you are going to be in front
you have to keep an even rhythm!
None of that spastic, erratic
slapping of the water,
and stop banging my paddle!”
“Words of wisdom Ben:
in life you keep it smooth,
keep chatter to a minimum,
and you’ll travel the water
in style”
This is going to be a long trip
but luckily, it’s a small lake
“Stop talking so I can ID some birds!”
“Caw-caw! Caw-caw!”
“Ben!”
“Look mom!
Bluegill!
Get closer so I can pick
that white flower”
“Is there something on my back?
Mom, do you see something red?”
“No. I analyzed closely”
“I love being analyzed
closely”
I start laughing hysterically
and almost turn us over
No boats on Lake Lure
but a few lazy pontoons
at 9am
Cherry Lust by JT Curtis
Intro
Is it Love
a simple bowl of ice cream
sweating from the heat
cherries on the top
huddled 'round and looking sweet
two little wooden paddles
pretend that they are spoons
as we sit beneath the stars
in the savor of the moon,
your lips are all I see
as they caress them with a passion
the cherries on your tongue
in a delightful playful fashion
Chorus
with our eyes intent and focused
in a stare of solemn trust
Is this ice cream truly love
or is it merely cherry lust
Instrumental
two little wooden paddles
pretend that they are spoons
as we sit beneath the stars
in the savor of the moon,
your lips are all I see
as they caress them with a passion
the cherries on your tongue
in a delightful playful fashion
Chorus
with our eyes intent and focused
in a stare of solemn trust
Is this ice cream truly love
or is it merely cherry lust
Where the groundhog has chewed the chain link
I slip through a brittle-boned hedge, and I am there
where geese sail a puddle-deep fog.
We taste the sea in its brine-washed ripples
splash through its salty clouds. Ohio rides on
oceanic currents, the Atlantic gets swept up
on gull wings, surf drifts West for miles,
then flops down and paddles deeper.
The sky has startled fisheyes in it; between the
soggy woods, aquatic scales slide and gleam.
Long-winded showers shatter where mermaids
chase, plunging on through dazed turnpikes,
or pausing to comb their wavy hair at windswept
rest-stops along Interstate I.75.
Dawn, a bed comes ashore,
dripping and fog laden.
Tuna sandwiches float
on foaming waves of nausea,
aqueous globs of salty oils,
surface. Punctured sea-dreams
float; flabby and flatulent.
The day paddles around aimlessly,
tides, rather than wait,
slosh about spongy ankles.
A rubber flipper mislaid
off the Normandy coast,
slipstreams through time,
one lost sand-encrusted flip-flop
bobs on by.
May have to snorkel longer
if there is any hope of seeing
the sun sink.
Eventually aquatic ghosts
depart for a younger past.
Back on the swaying deck
of a queasy reality
a fresh wind dries sheets.
Footprints in the sand
are spied through a fisheye lens.
A shipwrecked yesterday
is waving,
glad to be finally rescued.
Rowing with golden paddles
The water glides with quiet grace
Ripples shimmer like scattered diamonds
Smooth sailing with no thought of Winter
Summer forgets by design
Winter does not ask permission
Ripples stiffen into chop
Chop grows into waves
Winter crashes like a wild tsunami
Blanketing Fall in a cold grey hush
A long hibernation of silence
Until we paddle out and meet again
Two sisters born afar from my terrain
one rising near Taj Mahal ‘s glorious dome ,
another hopping on lanes of maple trees;
still, poetry traces their heartfelt rays
enduring continental divide
like silken wishes on angel cheeks
plying on a relay of starlit skies...
One a sweetened Jasmine utterly
devoid of night's umbra, ohh the other,
a peppered Cinder sizzling with
the sun's baked fireglow.
And though zones of time differ
in paddles of midnight’s arm stretched,
laughter and whispers scoop bowls
of friendship wild and lucent as dawn;
touching me through live words in a gathering
of images warmer than moon's crawl.
I fold my eyes on sands of hourglass
blowing winged kisses to miles distant
yet, near in the ingot of affection’s graces.
Hear Ye!
the babbles of brook flowing on by.
the fizzy hiss of foam floating on tide.
the howls of a waterfall crying into sky.
the raging roar of waves crashing on beach.
the pitter-patter raps of raindrops on window panes.
the splish and swish of paddles straddling lake.
the tinkle taps of gentle rain showers on rooves.
the guttural gurgle of water sinking down drains.
the blink and plink of dew drops tumbling down leaves.
all singing in cadence, a lulling lilting lullaby,
caressing ye to sleep.
But, Beware Ye,
lest Ye hear,
the alien tap of
drip,
drip,
drip,
drops in sink!
relentless, incessant, clatter,
insistent for a fix!
a serene lake on a moonlight night,
as she paddles her canoe away,
far into distance where it shines bright,
in gentle breeze water lilies sway.
her hopes are lit she would meet her dreams,
that warmth and lips that such young hearts yearn,
she scours in shadows between moon beams,
a lost effort in daily sojourn.
knock on the door brings her to morning,
wiping the sadness of a lost hope,
turning she smiles at her love snoring,
she had with whom tied marital rope!
dreams and hearts can be split in two parts.
9 syllables with abab rhyme sequence
except the last line with a rhyme within.
(“Utopia and Terror Merit Badge”, 2010, original oil)
The Age of Terror
It’s a new reign of terror
With demon hit squads roaming the earth
To lurk on roof tops, hedges
And parking lots for their attack
While cowardly anonymous callers SWAT
The unsuspecting next in line.
All the time the voice boxes
With their silent protest paddles
And bullhorns call for mayhem and murder,
Blood in the streets
And resistance in the name of democracy,
All for their deranged minions to do.
As they do nothing but double down
On their insider trading
Planning on the day
When they’ll be back in the seat of power
Back driving the economy off the cliff
And their adversaries into gulags.
This is the age of terror
Where nowhere or one is safe,
Where the Death Cult's agenda of greater good
Includes the sacrifice of you and me
By the billions
In the name of order, security, peace and freedom.
This is where we are today.
Are you terrified yet?
Or are you laughing at their desperation,
As the morning tide continues to rise, lifting all boats
Destroying all
Their castles made of sand.
(3/12/25)
In vast realm between both false realities
efforts of a strained bowel movement collapse
like the arithmetic dreams of abacus beads.
Arthritic persistence contemplates procrastination
while stillborn attempts at cleverness
seem to flicker as defibrillator paddles exchange electrons.
You can’t revive what wasn’t alive.
Success paddles forth on a teak-crafted boat,
God’s blessings now shine in a glow to adore.
Your foes only watch as your fortunes take note,
Your blessings now match every sand by the shore.
God made you a beacon of love evermore.
Puffy white clouds
Like pieces of
Floating cotton
Shifts silently across
the blue sky
Birds of morning
Sing songs in the
distance
Fish swim in crystal water
River flows gently
Fisherman paddles
a canoe
Here I sit
Nature and I
Foaming water, hard to see,
raft rocketing rapidly,
constant roaring on the air,
everything soaked, toe to hair,
paddles plunge and the bow shifts
slowly through the angry mists,
shoots past rocks, and eddies white,
the river drops out of sight,
stomach lurches, I feel tall,
plunge down a small waterfall,
splash hard in a swirling pool,
spun ’round as if on a spool,
hard strokes bring a quick escape,
into safer waters break,
boys are cheering, there is that,
it was their idea to raft.
On March the 5th I wrote a poem –
The title was “Dear Jill,”
Which was a plea that maybe
The First Lady would help fill.
Of course, she never saw it
And my quest was not unique,
But had she followed common sense,
We’d not be up the creek.
The paddles now must be controlled
By a dynamic team
Which maybe, just 4 months ago,
Would’ve had a bit more steam.
Yet there’s a chance the tide will turn
And folks will recognize
This country needs a leader
Spreading dignity, not lies.
the glow of the sun and ripple of water
paddles stroking blue
on a quest
bird songs echoing
taste, smell the movement of air
with thoughts positive floating
a storm
on shore my canoe shelter
far from the river
and lost
walking among forest trees
green and hushed
anger, fear, disgust
on and on through the tangle
towards the sound of water
grasp the sight of the coolness
feeling the aura, sense it
deep unknown with courage, faith and determination
on a quest to find myself
floating down the river proud
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