Short Huron Poems

Don't travel to see the world, travel to see yourself.

Ends of the Earth- Lord Huron...

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Between the broken crests,
The sea murmurs,
A Huron glides inches above the water
While a number of bumble bees
Feed within a rocky crevice....

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On Lake Huron roamed a lively maltese
who chased seagulls with her little niece
But then two birds soared by 
swooped them up to the sky
Now they’re off flying south with geese

1/17/22...

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Tirzah
Wife, Friend, Ally, Huron;
Daughter of Frank and Deann;
Lover of Horses, Family, and Steven;
Who Feels Desire, Love, and Passion;
Who Fears Loss, Rejection, and Disdain;
Who would like to see Egypt, Rome, and Australia;
Resident of Hondo, New Mexico
Conway...

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Charlie clark.
Huron high school has Randy as a coach.
Animal. What my dogs are.
Randy, the coach for huron.
Lebanon is a country.
I like pizza. 
Eat pizza everyday.

Charlie Clark
Live everyday. Die.
ABT’s are food I like 
Rabies is a disease
Kalahari is a place I go

Thank you

-Charlie Clark....

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DREAM 

Ambling on beach in dark
when the lake  laps the feet.

Sometimes I wish to walk away
on the water like a dragonfly.


MORNING 

Trying to figure out
what happened ?
Lake Huron went
into flames!


MOONLIGHT 

Up, above
a white ship was sailing.
On water,
thousands of boats.



SATISH VERMA...

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When Hugh and Ron got drunk together
and pissed a lake of mighty size,
their eery neighbor also spilled it
and let his eery waters rise.
By far superior was another
with depths of thirteen hundred feet.
His superiority was awesome
which Hugh, Ron, Eery couldn’t beat.
Below them lay Ontario Lago,
a bloke whose name is not much fun
because no matter how I turn it
I can’t create a lakey pun....

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A crinkled shore on the Upper Peninsula.
We are hunting Golden Eagles.

You find a small stone.
On the surface, a crimp and cockle
of wind and waves
has rucked an impression
of an eagle in flight.

“It's only ripple art, not even
a good depiction,
just water-wear. “
I say.

You throw it back into Lake Huron,
won’t hold my hand,
won’t even look at me,
until I admit the possibility
of divine crinkles....

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A crinkled shore on the Upper Peninsula.
We are hunting Golden Eagles.
Cameras fully loaded.

You find a small stone,
on it, a crimp and cockle
of wind and waves
has rucked an impression
of an eagle in flight.

“It's only ripple art, not even
a good depiction,
just water-wear. “
I say.

You throw it back into Lake Huron,
won’t hold my hand,
won’t even look at me,
until I admit the possibility
of prophetically placed crinkles....

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On its surface a crimp and cockle
of a purling tide have rucked an impression
on a stone.
We are here to find Eagles
but the sky is too low and the wind too high.

You show the image on the stone
as if this were the very thing
we had been looking for.

I look at it squint eyed:
could be a crow

You throw the stone into Lake Huron,
won’t hold my hand
won’t speak again
until I admit to the endless possibilities
of crinkles, tides and wind
to produce
magical eagles....

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