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nicole-lourettePoems
Ro- mance is in the air – or so they say at this time of year in the heart of the Thousand Islands. No- thing quite welcomes summer like the morning smell of seaweed fresh- ly caught on some vacationer’s pro- pellers - excess water draining from the boat’s engine, creat- ing sporadic puddles up the street. I see no romance in Alex Bay – too many tourists; too old, too young – No young lovers. Not E- nough privacy in the souvenir shops or bustling streets for young lovers to embrace and watch the sun set or rise off the Dock of the Bay. Mother duck leading her ducklings towards the bread crumbs the old- er generation has cast aside for them in the fishy water. Kids just don’t know what ro- mance is anymore. Perhaps because Spring is ending and not be- ginning. I must find the romance in these islands. There was a story passed down through the years of Boldt and his lady and Hart Island. He re-named it Heart Island and with his millions he made it just that. A castle he built her, a Play- house for the kids. Gardens and walkways, a Yacht House, a Tower. All this he built for his love. Can you imagine, waking up every morning to the smell, the sounds of an island called yours? In the midst of the St. Lawrence, the freshness, the cool, the sun beating down on your grass, your estate. How ro- mantic an idea. Of the one-thousand, seven-hundred and ninety-three islands, this one be- longs to you and your love. To travel by Ferry each day to the Bay, to dine every night at Cav- allario’s Seafood and Steak. Oh the wonders of Alex Bay – I found romance after all.
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Jan 31, 2011
Jan 31, 2011 at 4:19 PM UTC
The Heart of the Thousand Islands
Ro- mance is in the air – or so they say at this time of year in the heart of the Thousand Islands. No- thing quite welcomes summer like the morning smell of seaweed fresh- ly caught on some vacationer’s pro- pellers - excess water draining from the boat’s engine, creat- ing sporadic puddles up the street. I see no romance in Alex Bay – too many tourists; too old, too young – No young lovers. Not E- nough privacy in the souvenir shops or bustling streets for young lovers to embrace and watch the sun set or rise off the Dock of the Bay. Mother duck leading her ducklings towards the bread crumbs the old- er generation has cast aside for them in the fishy water. Kids just don’t know what ro- mance is anymore. Perhaps because Spring is ending and not be- ginning. I must find the romance in these islands. There was a story passed down through the years of Boldt and his lady and Hart Island. He re-named it Heart Island and with his millions he made it just that. A castle he built her, a Play- house for the kids. Gardens and walkways, a Yacht House, a Tower. All this he built for his love. Can you imagine, waking up every morning to the smell, the sounds of an island called yours? In the midst of the St. Lawrence, the freshness, the cool, the sun beating down on your grass, your estate. How ro- mantic an idea. Of the one-thousand, seven-hundred and ninety-three islands, this one be- longs to you and your love. To travel by Ferry each day to the Bay, to dine every night at Cav- allario’s Seafood and Steak. Oh the wonders of Alex Bay – I found romance after all.
Assignment #3 for my Writing Poetry class - A syllabic poem that evokes the spirit of a particular location. (1/6/9/8 syllabic meter)
nicole-lourette
Written by
nicole-lourette
American
Jan 31, 2011
Jan 31, 2011 at 4:19 PM UTC
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