Short Outboard Poems

The skiff chug's along
toward the end of the lake
where the tall peaks are.

When I cut the outboard
high snowcapped mountains
dived down into the still water,
below,
eagles flew under the hull.

A panoramic sky rolled under me.
my red and yellow float
became briefly entangled in
a high white cloud.

A fat trout slipped around a deep sun.
No way to catch that....

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The outboard chugged along 
toward the end of the lake
where the tall peaks were.

When the motor cut, all was still.
Then snowcapped mountains 
began to rise-up from the lake;
eagles flew under our hull.

Imagine staring at your float,
humped like a heron over the bow
while a panoramic sky 
moved under your boots.
Imagine Rainbow trout
sailing around the sun.

No way to catch that....

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A cigarette

Dawn and the mist, what else expect
On Lake Martin early spring?
Swamp cypress dripping with Spanish moss.
I have stopped rowing, water swirling around
Oar blades.
The silence is absolute; I dare not inhale
A bird shrieks, the lake shudders
An evil thought has entered Paradise.
I hear the faint noise of outboard motors
The moment of ethereal stillness was gone,
I lit a cigarette smoke inhale, blow 
Rings of delight in the morning air....

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