Short Canoes Poems

Autumn red orange 
Tree leaves of unmatched colors 
In rustic canoes...

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canoes tiny splash
glides on reflective mirror
great for bass fishing...

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Full grain cow hide kilt...
Plastic canoes tend to tilt
Frozen daisies wilt...

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Remember ; Mountain :
When Paiute canoes paddled :
Bygone many years

Inspired by Raul's Contest " Morning Ambience "...

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Canoes rock gently
under the waxing moon.
Black water ripples,
painting a beautiful scene
under the scented pines....

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Glaring white lake stretches up to bushes’ shades.
Adirondack chairs and canoes align in grace.   





March 26, 2023      11.37am...

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river is waist deep
ambience of lily pads 
swings elephant trunks
multitude of rubbernecks
in dugout canoes; and me

1/31/2023...

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The graceful pine stood proud and tall
A huge silhouette by nightfall

Nearby the Indians' canoes moved swiftly through the streams
While the children slept and rode wild ponies in their dreams

The stars lit the silent shadowed plains
Pierced by shrill whistles of passing trains...

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it's a narrow river,
Flowing beneath
The dark patchesof 
My soul
Oh I know
U can't traverse 
Ur canoes will 
Demolish in the
Cyclone of my 
Censuring words..
Well,this river is 
Not for you..
It just has the intention
To flow without any
 tedious look
It just flows..
Like my eternal poem...

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In a quiet corner of the world
  lies a village quite primitive
untouched by passing centuries
  folks at liberty to live

Stress-free, without the burdens
  of our frenzied society
No push to keep up with others
  no talk of drink or drugs, just sobriety

No superstores or sports coupes
  just rowboats and canoes
They hunt and fish for all their food
  ~ eat healthier than me or you...

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Poetry like a river
flows through the creative mind
of a poet.
He needs to know that he is not the only one
in the world, who floats up that river
in a canoe without a paddle.
Poetry flows through a poet's veins,
like a storm on a hot summer night.
Poetry like a river flows
over and over,
till it runs dry,
which it never will,
even if all the poets in their canoes die.
The river will always flow.

.2.13.2014....

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Ramble Through a Birch Forest




the path is straight and narrow
not a rock in the way
birches as far as the eye can see
their trunks, like tall slender
asparagus stalks, reach skyward
their caps, leaves bunched 
at the top like celery
I look at their white bark
imagining sweet birch beer
distilled or the sturdy canoes
dug out of tough trunks
I would like to stop
and ponder these things
but I must keep my date
with you


...

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MORNING

                   The sun is bathing sea is scathing blazing tips of volcanoes
                 Gods are traipsing moon is fading on the rigs of cloud canoes
                    Mother nature in her stature gliding birds are praying sun
                      Poet is busy pen is easy poems are coming one by one





                                            Sponsor	Isaiah Zerbst
                                  Contest Name	Interlocking Rhyme...

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Mystical
Is this a land of make believe 
A mystical land where one never leaves 
Icicles made of magic crystals
An enchanting land so very blissful 
Chocolate rivers with golden canoes
A peculiar little man wearing emerald shoes
Doves that sing, melodies of love
Wear golden rings as they fly above
Who’s the ruler of this mysterious land 
It’s protector of qualities so very grand
I’m here to stay I will not say goodbye 
I will live here until the day I die...

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Give me the horn to blow
The shores of sand and sun
While the birds sing and fly
The children run and jump

Give me the net to fish
The seas of the brave
While the canoes hoist their flags
The men drag their nets

Give me the tune for the African melody
The smoke of the fire are here
While the women prepare the catch
The family gathers by the fire side

Give me the coasts of Africa
The entrance of the love 
While the mighty still stands
The people will mend the nets of peace...

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Is a limerick milk and rice? 
It is in letter form.

Will a butterfly flutter by
as pastel petals fall?

Astronomers, the moon-starers, 
Say, “Yay! Cat’s ecstasy!” 

Do canoes that ply the oceans
show discretion in directions?

Be silent now, and listen still,
to bather’s pacing breaths.

The tall and solitary royalist reigns; 
but, will he resign?

Hear the minstrel, Mr Silent,
make a testament and statement:

“This is a play on jumbling words:
it's Anagramalia!”
...

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Beautiful Lake Marion

The Lake as Beautiful as the big blue sky
Sits welcoming
The sun beams in and wakes people in the mornings
When they wake they get right to their activities
Kayak and Canoes paddle around 
While swimmers’ heads pop up in the wavy blue water.
Feet bounce on the hot pavement the tires whir past the sweaty hoppers
The smell of smoke fills the air as marshmallows cook by the fire in late afternoon
The sound of waves fills the night air
People enjoy Lake Marion...

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