Short Tugboat Poems

Brenda has a big bottom,
it causes quite a wake
as she swims toward me.

Soft girl steaming up to my woody
chuffing like a tugboat,
mouth as wide as a catfish.

Such things are not written of
nearly enough....

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Brenda has a big bottom,
it causes quite a wake
as she swims toward me.

Soft girl steaming up to my election
chuffing like a tugboat,
mouth as wide as a catfish.

Such things are not written of
nearly enough.
...

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Brenda has a big bottom,
it causes quite a wake
as she swims toward me.

Soft girl steaming up to my erection
chuffing like a tugboat,
mouth as wide as a catfish.

Such things are not written of
nearly enough....

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Grandfather relaxed
While I cleaned his grimed toenails—
He was a tugboat captain.
It was tradition,
As soon as he fell asleep,
I painted his toenails red.

© February 22, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Sedoka me any subject 	
Sponsored by: Russell Sivey...

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The garbage barge is floating large,
A tugboat smoothly towing.
The seagulls swoop, a noisy group,
To follow where it’s going.

I sit and stare, quite unaware
Of who might pass behind me,
But those who know where I might go
Would very quickly find me.

Unless it’s wet or winter’s net
Has trapped me and it’s freezing,
I’ll be right here, the river near,
To all my senses pleasing....

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And if I come
I'll bring the dew
Blended with  cruor
Of our veins

And if I reach your hand
I’ll become the tugboat
Of dignity and pride
Preserved with countless lives

Then... If I fall
I'll be the victor (anyway)
By sacrifice of blood
I'll bring the Happy Easter

To those 
Beneath the coat
Of diminishing faith  
a note 

against the rhapsody of hate


PORTLAOISE,
17/02/2016...

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The river’s not really a river
‘Cause water can flow either way.
Right now it is tumbling downtown.
Tomorrow? I simply can’t say.

The jet skiers seem not to mind much;
The same for each tugboat or ferry.
I wonder if they’re all aware that
They’re riding a brisk estuary.

When mapmakers draw up their pictures,
Simplicity’s what they deliver.
It’s hard to say East Estuary,
So that’s why it’s called the East River....

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A tugboat named Mary
Was towing a barge.
The tugger was little;
The tuggee was large.

They glided on past
As the sun hit the river,
With engines a’chugging,
A load to deliver.

I marveled at Mary,
So cool and in charge,
Using all of her might
Just for hauling that barge.

It doesn’t much matter,
I’m sure you’ll agree,
If the strength and the stamina
Stem from a “she.”

Proud Mary is out there
To prove without fail
That for fortitude, one
Doesn’t have to be male!...

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The playground hadn’t opened;
The sun had yet to rise
And many might think walking
In the dark would not be wise.

A mist hung by the river,
A tugboat pulled a barge;
The cars inched down the F.D.R.,
Their headlights looming large.

The puddles, partly hidden,
Glinted dully in the gloom,
Soon to saturate some sneakers
Not expecting them to loom.

It was magic to be walking;
The few others I did see
Were the regulars who love
Their early exercise, like me....

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In the purple haze of the bar room
you muse lustful moves
like the true artist you are
you stumble but find yourself
in the midst of shipwrecks
swaying to the trash band
of suburban artifacts 
the dance floor groans
like a wooden sailboat
in a hurricane
pot smoke belly aches
too much acid
messes with your head
your sailor escorts you
like a tugboat down
the wonky lane
where in the backseat
of his Cadillac
you swallow the salty
cocktail of regrets
dawn breaks and
you'll do it all again tonight....

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