Shattered dreams—isn’t it strange
That they cannot leave me once and for all
And continue to live within me as a separate entity
As if awaiting their fulfilment.
Their presence is particularly noticeable in the mornings
When I wriggle out from under the duvet
Sit on the edge of the bed
To get up the very next second
But I suddenly sit there in a daze for a while
Inside me, the film is ending
And the credits are already rolling too fast,
So I can’t make out a single word
Who starred in it and who supported
Even though I’ve only just watched this episode.
I still remember how I was rowing a boat
To some unknown destination, but then,
A few minutes ago,
I knew the place and the time exactly
When I was due to arrive somewhere
Where my love was waiting for me with joy
And I was filled with a joyful anticipation
But then everything seemed to fade
As if wrapped in a transparent bag in the rain
Only raindrops were visible on the blurred screen
Rowing Through The Pain
Row, Row, Row your boat gently down the stream
Merrily, Merrily, Merrily, Merrily life is but a dream
Row, Row, Row your boat why can’t I scream
Merrily, Merrily, Merrily, Merrily perfections not how it seems
Row, Row, Row your boat forever never ends
Merrily, Merrily, Merrily, Merrily my pain never mends
Over, Over, Over again until I go insane
Barely, Barely, Barely, Barely rowing through the pain
No, No, No you don’t go crying a river of tears
Hear me, Hear me, Hear me, Hear me crying for all these years
Rowing took my muse away,
but gave me abs of steel.
Erging less, now what’s the deal?
Seems I have some to say.
Brains deprived of oxygen
can’t seem to find a verse
and then to make these matters worse,
seems sugar is my gin.
I’ve a got little fat again
upon the waist, between the ears.
Melodic verses I do hear;
instead of oars, I stroke the pen.
Rowing downstream is one of life’s grandest pleasures
while upstream’s difficulty is quite hard to measure
You’ve got to dip those oars in right tight to the boat
and if you're ahead of the current, make sure not to gloat
My spirit released
set free to fly
seeking in wonder
what I do not know
so long ago
so far from I
when for time
they went down to the sea
bending the back
a smooth strong pull
and gathering breath
in a foreword lean
beneath open sky
among the waves
for how many days
how many weeks
I strongly pull
another stroke
and I wonder
about them
what did they think
upon the sea
as they did row
someone like me
G-rowing
is rowing
keeping the balance
towards the light!
Our fathers row
when we are children.
We observe how
they do it.
As we grow,
we have to
do the rowing.
Harder than it seemed.
Difficult to
keeping balance.
We fight against
the current.
Until one day,
we learn to enjoy the rapids,
Letting the current take us.
Without much effort.
Time goes by
the current grows stronger.
We are reaching the sea
some fear surrounded us.
Keep rowing
and growing.
The beautiful sunrise,
It is reflecting in the sea.
the team rows in unison
sense of honor
feeling accomplished
the sun begins to slide into the sea
and still they row
not knowing anything better to do with today
Roald Dahl 'The Rowing Song'
¶
.. .. . ¶ ¶
¶ ¶
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~~~~~~~~~ / / / / / / / ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~-- \ \ \ \ \ \ \--~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ / / / / / / / ~~~~~~~~~~~
The world has turned upside down,
but don't expect me to frown.
I smile for the sun still shines,
and hope's boat will never drown.
STRAND PICK G,ANY THEME,ANY FORM Poetry Contest (Winner: 3rd Place)
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date written: 04/25/2020
I remember that we rowed.
You were afraid.
And so, I gave the oars to you,
I thought, you see – control
Would help you feel
It was your boat that moved
Beneath your unsure feet.
And then, I saw your leg, and I liked you!
You laughed, hysterical! You always laughed
When you were afraid.
I… I talked about ‘meaningful relationships’,
But you, as bold as only newness can make a person,
You wanted marriage!
You didn’t mean, with me! Although, you married me!
And now, I’d give a bucketful of suns,
To see you row, again!
With God We Are Rowing
When with God we are always rowing,
Faith in Him is growing and growing;
Much kelp;
Need help;
Maintain course when wind is blowing.
Jim Horn
Kelp slows down and re-directs boat.
Nice knowing that we have God's help.
While On Boat Rowing
While being on boat, we were rowing;
Wherever we went had been knowing,
Shore is near,
And did appear;
Right beside us are sure God is going.
Jim Horn
The bus driver and a rowing boat
I remember a song “A slow boat to China”
There was a man a bus driver who took his wife on holiday to Spain
where his wife ran away with a shepherd
The bus driver went home alone but had the house which exploded
(a gas leak) when he sat on the loo; he was unharmed but somewhat
embarrassed. When the insurance money, came he bought a rowing boat
which had a mast and he could set sail when the wind was right.
He landed in Falmouth before the winter storms.
When spring came he rowed and sailed to the island of Neves where
he met John Cleeve, who wrote a funny article about the brave man
and suddenly the bus driver was famous.
The rich people in Neve gave him money which put in a bank
(there are so many banks) when he went to the bank to draw
out money for an ice-cream, he found he was a millionaire.
High finance is a mystery and something had gone wrong
not for him to ask questions, but he did transfer the money
to a Swiss bank and took the first plane back to Europe.
The bus driver is now a prosperous cattle farmer in Andalusia.
Into your boat I found myself venturing, oh life
Rowing against the currents of your afflictions
Many times I thought you wished me to drown
Though you desired to forge my convictions!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
06 October 2015
POTD
The rotting wood below my feet is stroked by the shadow of a chain
Which keeps my hands still, but busy; an agony in unison, afloat.
My mind has learned to drift and wander, many miles away
But the pain always finds a way to intrude, to pierce, to cut.
I hear the crack of the whip, and a scream, and I do not feel a thing.
Again to my silent relief, only seen in my sagging shoulders; it is someone else’s pain,
The constant clap and glide of the oars continues unabated; ‘cept one
As he shudders in a heap, the oar nudging his head; one hundred comforting him.
Our backs face our destination and only the pilot sees the course ahead
Which now waits for us as we rest; for the drum- beat has now ceased…
There is no relief in that workless moment, for our thoughts moan and cry
At the time just ahead, when we will sway and pull and scream
Silently.
But with a roar, the sky shouts and weeps for us, and bolts shoot
Down and silently, missing us against our pleas and prayers.
We do not want to die, but the life we have is no alternative.
For we are dying
Slowly.
The whip cracks, a man weeps, and we all
Shiver.
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