Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Anais Vionet Jul 8
The sun seemed to rise slowly, almost hesitantly, this morning - a yellow syrup pouring into a deep, dark blue sky. The air is hot and thick, like a low viscosity liquid. We’re going out on the boat this morning and when you have 9 passengers and crew, everyone’s toting something.

Kim and Bili have towels and a shoulder bag of sunscreen lotions and repellents, Charles has a cooler with everything needed to make breakfast omelets on the grill (the eggs have been pre-beaten, the veggies pre-chopped, the cheese grated, the meat diced).

Anna and Lisa are toting a cooler of sodas buried in ice. Leong has the “dry box” with phones, Nintendo switches, kindle readers and iPads. Leong’s rolling a luggage rack of textbooks, Sunny has a large coffee thermos, and Sophy has a bag with dry clothes for everyone.

The girls are practically running over each other in their eagerness to be last onboard because the first two get to towel the night’s condensation off everything.

I carried the lunch cooler full of Chick-fil-a sandwiches, but my main job is to check the indicators and disconnect the dockside water, drainage and electrical feeds as Charles takes the helm and begins his “preflight” before he fires up the Mercury 500-hp engines. I know we’re a “go” when he turns on the underwater lights - that’s my signal to cast off.

The engines roar to life and then purr as we slowly pull away from the dock, we girls greasing ourselves up with sunblock. The air conditioning begins to help but picking up speed is what finally breaks the hold of the oppressive heat.

As we exit the marina Charles opens-up on the throttle and that’s always a thrill. We usually ski first, before the lake gets crowded, and lounge later.

Sunny, Leong and Anna like to sit in the bow, refreshed by occasional lake spray and the wind-whipped cool. Leong likes to sit in the cabin, like Charles’ copilot while the rest of us recline on lounges facing rearward to watch the skiers.

Our summer mornings have passed like this, launching around 6 am, skiing, then swimming, studying and getting off the lake before the noontime “heat advisories” and afternoon thunderstorms.

Later, I’m relaxing in the shade, having just gotten out of the lake, and I’m on my iPad.

“What are you writing?” Anna asks.

“Oh, I write poetry and stories - mostly stories these days but there is some occasional poetic recidivism.” I say.

“You write poetry?” She repeats, as if shocked, “I didn’t think there were any poets left.”

“Well,” I say, “Most poets died, in the early flames of science, trying to prove the pen was mightier than the sword, but there are still poets around - they live in cities where they’ll try and wash your windshield if you stop at a traffic light, and they’re frequently mistaken for the homeless - or they may actually be homeless.”

“Can I read some of your writing?” She asks, after waiting through my long joke.

“Absolutely NOT.” I answer.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Recidivism: a relapse to undesirable behavior.

slang:
moto = hot
Allesha Eman Jul 5
Between you and this dying world
Are boats carried by tidal waves
Built from pieces of love you left behind
You keep moving toward the horizon
As their anchors fall into deep ocean
Strings of forgotten fears hold you back
And prayers, from when you were lost,
Take your hand, tell you stories, and bring you back to where the sun said its final goodbyes
And you, covered in terracotta and blue
Begin to sink in the sapphire gloom
As whatever remains from your dreams
Keeps you afloat and clouds disappear
The stars bloom from midnight grey
Illuminating the way home
All for you
Ok little buddy, I'm not going to stop..
so you're just gonna have to figure it out.

One more time--

there is nothing whatsoever unreal in you
but the unholy filter so unfairly placed  in to
you so very long ago..

and it is through that filter
that the beautifully clear view
of your beautifully true self
is made obscure.

When you are unable to see your own true self,
you are also then unable to feel it..
and it is within all of those  unfelt  moments
that you most harshly judge yourself.

Think about it, young dream..
how fair would a judge be if he can't even see
or picture the person who is standing before him?
Yet look at you go--  saying that you are unreal inside

when the problem  all along is the filter..
that was never even your own doing.

And here you are yet again,  only surrounding yourself
with those who only know how to interact with  the you
that has succumbed to the ever-obsuring ways  of that
god-forsaken filter..  
                and I wonder, young beautiful..
                are you ever going to give it all  a chance?

I could say so much to you right now,
but I think I'll instead just shut up and go to sleep.

Goodnight.. sleep tight.
May you so very beautifully heal, as you sleep.

Kisses, sweet friend. xoxo
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4262216/name/

Go out and get yourself that boat, beautiful girl. xox
https://youtu.be/_G5Tt4AHVTI
Bansi Adroja May 30
It’s strange talking about work and the weather
as if we didn’t spend almost a decade
wrapped up in each other

Somewhere out on the water
talking about forever
as if it was just another Tuesday

You were always trying to teach me how to sail
but I never really listened
still I was in love with your voice
and the way you’d stop to kiss me
when I complained about the cold
till it didn’t matter anymore

Sometimes I wish we’d never come ashore
stayed out there where time didn’t matter
and nothing changed

We could have disappeared over the horizon
into the proverbial sunset
we would have stayed golden
Anais Vionet May 17
It’s a cool, Georgia, Wednesday afternoon - not quite 80°f. The sky is clear, and the sun is dazzling against the cadet blue sky. Its reflection is multiplied a thousand small times, creating glittering, broken mirror glares that ripple, relentlessly, across the water’s blue surface.

On the lake, if you’re not wearing polarized sunglasses, then you’re going to suffer - no worries though, we have drawers full of them. We’re on my parents' Tiara-43 ski boat, at anchor in the sheltered-cove of an uninhabited island. It’s windy, Leong and I, bikinied and fresh from the water, race shivering for our giant, Turkish-linen beach-towels.

Charles, a large, redheaded, retired, NYC cop, (who’s been my full-time driver and escort since I was 9), is our boat-captain (I am not allowed to dock the boat). Charles, a chef of steaks nonpareil, is working the grill and unconsciously swaying to the music. The aroma is mouthwatering, and my tummy is growling with anticipation.

Ashe’s “Another man’s jeans” is bumpin’ from the stereo, and I can’t help but feel this somehow beats going to class. As we wrap up and settle in our lounges, a green and white ski boat careens into view, about a quarter mile from the cove entrance.

The sight of it makes me smile. It’s going so fast that it seems to hover over the surface of the lake, only jerking slightly as the boat lightly touches-off the water. It zeros in on us like a missile, its approach flat out - perhaps 60mph (52 knots).

I knew who it was instantly - Kimmy - of course. I look at my watch - 3:30pm - she got out of school at 2:15 and must have made a hot bee-line for us using “find my friends” GPS telemetry to uncover our hidden cove location.

As the boat edges the cove lip, Kim cuts power - the boat heaves as it settles into the water and quickly decelerates. Charles, anticipating the approaching wake, secures things (spices and utensils) in the galley area. When the boat’s closer, I can see that Bili’s onboard too.

Kim and Bili are my two homie BFFs. They’ll graduate high school in 2 weeks. Kim is a small, pretty Asian American bound for Brown University, to study public policy in the fall. Bili is a tall, gorgeous, chocolate-brown Nubian princess who’ll attend the University of California, at Berkeley to study “financial engineering” - whatever that is.

When Kim’s boat is about 80 feet from us, Kim and Bili jump on deck, water-ready in bathing suits. Each girl, used to the boating-life, tosses an anchor - one to port, one starboard, and not bothering to look back, dive off the bow and begin swimming toward us.

Kim’s boat, which briefly seemed intent on catching them, jerks to a stop, like a wild thing suddenly restrained, as anchor lines catch.

When Kim and Bili draw along aside, they reach up with clasped hands which Charles uses, like a handle, to smoothly hoist them one-handed, as if they were weightless, in turn, from the water with long mastered ease - presenting them to me for squealing embrace.

As I excitedly introduce them to Leong - summer has officially begun.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Nonpareil: "having no equal."
Allesha Eman Mar 5
These years, they ask us questions
answers that tomorrow never knows,
held in the arms of yesterday.
The weight of this dreaming
pushes the clouds onto the ground
and our fleeting conversations
with this flooding rain
breaks the boats we built
that were already too unfit
for this ocean between the clocks we build
and the time we chase
Zeth Feb 7
Misty mem’ries down murky highways
Of sinking ships down dark alley drains
There dreams there too have sadly sunken
With hopes of life obscurely ashen.

May these paper boats find their way out
To flow back in endless paradise
Then I’ll surely know without a doubt
I’ve set my heart there again to rise.

Though we may cross a different path
Or flow on different waterways
Please know we’ll meet there a moment too
When rivers meet at the vast blue space.
To those who have once lost themselves and their dreams
Allesha Eman Jul 2021
The winds from where you grew up
Strike conversations at midnight
Your thoughts, now paper planes
Take off into memory lanes
And your feet, aching soles
Search for branches, and petals
That remind you of home
The taste of sweet dates still dancing on your tongue
Sweet syrup stretches its limbs
Through your nose
Sensations of a past soaked in white noise
When did you leave it behind?
And you think back to the time
When you walked with your naïve self
Too young to comprehend
Back onto a boat
In those dreams that never escape you
Called memories
Clive Blake Jul 2021
Sea calm,
Crew slept,
Dark side,
Sea kept,
Tide raced,
Waves crept,
Crew woke,
Sails prepped,
Coiled spring,
Waves leapt,
Overboard,
Crew swept,
Left behind,
They wept.

For the sea has no respect
For the nautically inept …
A Cornish poem about the sea.
By Cornish Poet Clive Blake
calypso Apr 2021
stick it to a wall
& sail away
go to the shore
and call it a day
to live, to lie
it's all just life
nothing's changed
just me, the same
i have no idea what this is.
Next page