#canal
we float upon
abandon canal,
listening
for the water slap
of the occasional carp.
where kingbirds
dart and feed
from mid-hanging branches.
the tow path
now an over grown trail that
deer and coyote ignore.
the clock tick of wave against the hull.
history bending for little;
the keeping and talking
of things ceasing here
in unbelievable
finely scored near silence.
osprey cry and fall
cutting the silence
at the canal's surface
leaving with a fish,
leaving water rippled,
leaving feather.
and it will be all day
the hum and attack
of insect fly by, and
we'll only speak to navigate,
settling into an uneven pattern
with paddle.
it's another life
to be floating.
a ***** yellow
canoe the method
by which we ignore
the dense differences
between air and water,
and awaken to
the quiet moments
full to the clues
of the immense life
that dwells in
small places.
Oct 6, 2025
Oct 6, 2025 at 3:11 AM UTC
You've seen the eel twice now
I saw it once on
Our weekend walk and
I have to say, it was genuinely thrilling
Mysterious and often overlooked
Perhaps lost in the
Ornamental canal
Some distance from the river now
Sharing water with ducks, swans, a small
Fish family, the lonely heron
And those crab carcasses which are
A mystery unto themselves
Jul 1, 2025
Jul 1, 2025 at 6:42 AM UTC
The clouds chasing grey
and fierce, over the canal --
a flock of starlings.
Apr 22, 2023
Apr 22, 2023 at 3:44 AM UTC
Passing Through
We are like two sailing ships
Passing through a narrow canal
Veteran captains standing on our decks
We nod heads to each other
In acknowledgement as if to say
Congratulations on a job well done
The sails of our boats once taut now sag
A sign of the relics we have become
In our hey day
We were the top of our class
The envy of the fleet
Known for speed and cunningness
The scourge of the open seas
Few willing to take us on in a battle of the minds
Feared in competition
Avoided where possible
But alas like all things in life
There is decline and decay awaiting us
When you know the time has come
For navigating into the sunset for safe harbor
All that is left is to idle away time
Sitting on the sandy shore until...
Andreas Simic©
Feb 6, 2022
Feb 6, 2022 at 9:28 AM UTC
Taking my dog to the canal
Its tea coloured peace
Resting behind the town
He noses in nettles
Relieves himself on bluebells
As I eye the bridge's span
Towards its apex
Crushed beneath the roadway
A sapling reaches out
I look closer
Its lignified limb squashed flat
Emerging arthritic
Unfurling green fingers
In a hopeful
Reaching last
I comprehend the wall
Council funded murals
Darter dragonfly, pipistrelle bat
King fisher
Washed over stone
Pale compensation
For nature entombed
Apr 11, 2021
Apr 11, 2021 at 5:57 PM UTC
Twisted complex feelings
swings to grandfather’s hometown canal,
where the heated late summer sunlight burned off
traditional peace and a quiet Canal Zone.
Returning scholar
his granddaughter’s blood at his side,
imagine now the men who once amassed
the limestone locks to straddle the canal,
an obsolete image from
an eldritch past.
Aug 29, 2020
Aug 29, 2020 at 9:09 AM UTC
o'er night's dark canal
the moon's bright crescent did sail
like a gondola
May 26, 2020
May 26, 2020 at 8:13 AM UTC
as far as I am aware
you are not wonderful
of course you can have
other positions
you may be good
from another point of view
but from mine
I see just a girl
without eyes, without ears
without a face, without a head
as they are
too clear
there is just this behavior
too superficial
to know something deeper
to try to know something deeper
to want to try to know
something deeper
but still, something about you
there is
that is why
is this poem done
however, if you are able
there is a chance to see
how bad this poem really is
written in one minute
like you
history will swallow it
as nothing
as a useless, silly
nothing
May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 3:45 AM UTC
I’m currently looking at a canal.
The blue water is opaque,
Yet clear as blued silver.
My eyes reflect its iridescent glow,
Sending back it’s judgment upon my soul.
Beyond the silkily shining stream
Lies lines of trees,
Each a different eerie shade of blue.
They fade into the baby blue backdrop,
Looking almost like layers on a painting.
And further back I see an industrial feat;
A bridge, standing tall, strong, and stoic.
It’s steel beams uphold the innumerable
plethora of cars, which tread over its solid joints.
This time I know this happiness is real
Even though I haven’t lost it yet;
Even though I’m still in this sun-kissed morning.
Dec 22, 2019
Dec 22, 2019 at 1:32 PM UTC
Give the knots that line my spine
The milky film that clots my eyes
The pride that grips my jaw
To be suspended
Hair blown out in rat-tail haloes
By soft ochre dispersions
To bob, a boat returned
Plunged into the myth of algae
Nymphs that bring dimension to the depths
To be an oil spill clearing canvas
A gliding watercolor rag or
Submerged irradiant water hag
Concealed by a cocoon
The overhang where beads of light
Exaggerate the urban dream
Freed from the stingy binds of gravity
The filthy nihilistic scene above
Just on display way down there
Beneath the ziplocked airless sky
For passers-by to glimpse the paradox
This wilful tragedy of mine
Through a waterlogged trachea
Umbilical cord to godliness stretched
Returned to me mangled and sore
Drowned in the canal of Little Venice.
Nov 26, 2019
Nov 26, 2019 at 4:02 PM UTC
Ten years miserably passed before..."At last!"
Four eyes dizzely cast into blue and brown,
and four, no, six legs on the ground.
Wistfully down a park laid sidewalk, we walked
to meet one another, blissfully.
We walked inside the dried canal, a river of the desert.
It hurts that we go there, no more, to flirt
with the dirt and our companion... infinity.
Is it you with me as I find kin company
in the molecules of divinity?
Repeatedly, I go searching the vicinity and nearby
For anything with similarity that I can call you by.
Any tree, light, shadow or star in the proximity
of where we met that belonged to you and me.
Or a feeling of solidarity that I cannot see.
Son, don't let me now survive ten years expeditiously.
Destructively alive, left with the intangiblity of life
that we left at that decision tree at 5:45.
Repetitiously I continue to apologize,
but apologies won't bring you back to life.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 5:06 PM UTC
Gliding through glistening ripples,
mirroring the milky blue from above.
Viewing the world side-on,
yet gracefully moving forwards.
Golden corn wave their hello.
The passing landscape rolls like revolving stage scenery,
painted by the finest.
She rests at her pilot’s will,
then moves forward once again;
gliding through glistening ripples.
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 4:56 AM UTC
Prowling through the undergrowth
In our barging juggernaut,
Ploughing the rolling hills of water,
Which crease as the narrowboat sluggishly gliding past,
Brushes the bulrushes like a tiger in the reeds.
For four intrepid days
Our film and photographs are empty to show,
No sign, only missed whispers,
Of the hummingbird blue blur.
A darting flash cresting the morning chill,
Regal turquoise stealthily steals
Our attention, our focus, and our tiller
Noses toward the bank hugger.
And we have him.
Small amber-royal fisherman,
Eclipsing his heron heralds
And the swans silent vigil
In majestic lapis lazuli.
Swift and sure he graces the water,
Fisher King,
Which bends beneath his dive.
Resurfacing, his golden breast
Mottled with silver minnow.
There recluse in his exclusive spot,
Fish foundering still in the ******
The kingfisher's poise frames his catch
Aperture, shutter, captured shot.
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 1:26 AM UTC
sometimes
if you stop breathing
you can hear
you can hear the sound
of the single drop of water
as it drips
onto a bit of tin
amidst the grass and the mud
or the sound of the ducks’
feathers as they play
in the eddies
or the sound of the sun
as it rises over the grey canal
kissing it to life
over treetops that are
japanese watercolours
and boats moored in the marina
memories of a time gone by
sometimes
if you stop breathing
you can feel
you can feel the breeze
on the hair of your arms
the wind as it chills your fingers
and you exhale
dragon breath
sometimes
if you stop breathing
you can feel
life
in death
sometimes
if you stop breathing
you gasp
as you take in the details
the masthead
on a boat
a dragon
with horns?
a greek god
to keep storms away?
hammered iron and blue
a totem
a good luck charm
a protective spell
sometimes
if you stop breathing
everything fades
and all we have
is the now
the single breath
pain vanishes
and all that remains
is bliss
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 3:29 AM UTC
We’re hand in hand and walking, down where the Camden canal runs away from us
and breaks faintly in spires, under the floating patches of, olive tree, street lamps.
She shivers on her cigarette, smoke watching, a furnace strong and foreign,
like the ******* of the incense in Rome, tracing flaming *** trails.
The bird living in my ribcage beats it’s great and terrible wings
again, and has another. I have her cold elbow fit my palm.
The pigeons obliviously sleep to the draw
of that burning London moon.
The draw I feel moving me.
down into the world
that acts as a cellar
to the one we know.
So much colder
than the heat
is, in her
~
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 11:14 AM UTC
We're boating on Brindley's cut
cruising to the cotton city
Manchester where it all goes on
the engine of our empire.
Eight hours of ease from Top Locks,
meals provided, plenty to see
here on the cutting edge
of British engineering.
A night out on the tiles
then back again to dear old Runcorn,
something to tell our kids,
the start of a transport revolution.
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC