#canoe
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
A nice canoe trip,
downstream, without worrying --
about getting lost.
Jul 25, 2022
Jul 25, 2022 at 3:33 AM UTC
Canoeing
written March 7th, 2021
I have spent the last few days
canoeing the Mackenzie River
making the journey in a book
with maps and words.
As I read it takes me back
to canoeing in my youth
the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness
along the northern border of Minnesota.
I can feel the paddle
pulling through the water
and hear the loons
crying at night.
The land around me
almost untouched since
Huron, Chippewa, Cree
Dakota and Ojibwa eyes
were the only ones
that had ever seen it.
Now I travel in thought and memory
the clear cold waters of the lakes
the portages through forested hills
taking me from one gem
of a lake and a memory
to the next.
Mar 7, 2021
Mar 7, 2021 at 7:38 PM UTC
May in Kemah's new
dimension
May a girl be planted
and there she shall bloom
a Texas queen of song
of name and country
may a girl be reborn to grow
to play the game of canoe
with a cute little ruddy boy
by the Galveston's lake's shores
May the two bloom right
where planted near by
a boy and a girl living
perfectly safe childhoods
divine cherished and adored along with many brothers
and sisters
aunts and uncles cousins
all well to do educated gifted
talented society's best
of benefactors to humanity
famous among the elite most prestigious and highly intellectual entrepenours
So that boy and this girl
may grow up living
life to the fullest going to
same schools
loving the out doors under
the starry sky camp
marry and live happily ever
after in another life
In Kemah by Galveston shores
a cute boy and lovely girl shall find each other again
beautiful inside twin smiles outwards
as were in this lifetime
twin souls found again and again
both shall bloom where
planted intitled
timeless spaceless two as one
twin flame twin souls
~~~~~~~~~~
By:Karijinbba
All rights reserved.
Jul 9, 2019
Jul 9, 2019 at 1:54 AM UTC
As a waterwheel shall rise bounds
in a river where power will flow higher above stream
so mist does braze her skin which heightens stance with a kiss
where rain sought close by the rim yet wise
an owl on a branch that will sing
notes that nocturne has played here but still kept it away
from any current and rapidly churning sequence
how, cleverly those parts may bode in harmony awhile in a
canoe afloat in tranquility that programs a hydra just ashore.
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 7:19 PM UTC
I am an outlaw like Jesse James
I'm not much for playing games
Loyalty is all I demanded
Lies I simply can not stand
Tell to me only truths
Or I'll knock out your ******* tooth
The place we're in is a high stakes game
But in the end you'll be glad you came
We'll float a boat, we'll get real high
While we're cooking, you just might cry
If you have thoughts of rolling over
You'll end up under the sweet, red clover
We're not much on floppy tongue snitches
You'll find they end up in deep dug ditches
But in our canoe you can ride all night
Smoke rolls up it's such a sight
On our boat you can ride for days
Sleep rans fast and far away
So come and play in our devilish way
We'll talk for hours, till there is nothing left to say
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC
There once was a lad from the Lone Star State,
who dreamed of exploration and realized that just over the horizon, adventure await.
He was commissioned by the internal desire for adventure,
which burns deep inside us all, and within him grew,
so he assembled a ragtag crew to explore a land seen by few.
He set off for the ancient land- more north than he’d ever been-
whose beauty and wonder only true voyageurs and men of the wilds knew.
By air and by land, the voyageur lad traveled to his Uncle’s cabin,
nestled deep within the Harshaw Hill country.
This legendary cabin, was built solely by the hands of the one they call Uncle Buck-
the most amazing cabin one could ever see.
Uncle Buck is renowned and recognized throughout the land
for his merit, adventurous spirit, long grizzled beard, and skillful hand.
It was here, in the cabin’s comfort, the brave Sugar Beans (as he was fondly named)
greeted his courageous crew with a hearty, “Boozhoo!”
They were some of the finest canoeists around-
paddlers tested, tried and true.
Together they pondered, planned, and plotted the course of their adventure
for which they’d set forth;
packed their belongings, and dreamed of North.
Sugar Beans’ crew consisted of five, rugged braves-
paddlers he knew had grit and could battle the wind, rain, and waves.
Uncle Buck, a wise and grizz old guide, had seen many moons in the Northland sky.
Respect of all living things and the song of the wild are the codes to which he ascribes.
Jonesy, a well-traveled voyageur himself and Sugar Beans’ proud dad,
had been to this land and wanted to share its magic with his brave little lad.
Joeseppi , a young blood at heart, was the lad’s loyal cousin and friend,
a trustworthy bowman, on whom all paddlers could depend.
Makwa, the newcomer- fierce as a bear and as tough as the rest-
and after day one, she gave it her best.
And last there was Pierrὲson; the lad’s other cousin and fellow adventure zealot,
who once learned his lesson and stayed away from anything that resembled an apricot.
They loaded the van, strapped on the canoes, and greeted the early morning with a boisterous “Bonjour!” and embarked North to begin The Magical Northwoods Mystery Tour.
Traversing blue highways the voyageurs meandered north, through the wilds of Wisconsin and the Land of 10,000 lakes, hoping to make the Canadian border before it was too late.
Eventually they arrived at the Magical Northwoods’ doorway- delicate and ornate.
The crew unloaded their gear and launched their canoes- confident and sure.
Each eager paddle stroke brought them closer to all the memories they would create.
And Sugar Bean and his crew created memories- some of the best.
Memories that seep into dreams and make one feel blessed.
Memories of:
discovering a pictograph and plodding through a ****** river- just to get back on path;
stumbling upon wolf tracks and forgetting the fishing poles- but never the packs;
exploring craggy caves and battling and paddling against the wind and waves;
hunting for ice under rock clefts out of the sun, they searched and searched but came up with none;
swimming in the warm water nearly every day and asking painted turtles if they wanted to play;
practicing the art of stalking seagulls, and on every lake, they gave greeting the glorious eagles;
dropkicking each and every single portage and of food and laughter there was no shortage.
The crew came back with fantastic tales and experienced everything a voyageur could wish.
And although his dad will try to tell you it was only by an eighth of an inch, there are pictures to prove that Sugar Beans caught the biggest fish!
So here’s a paddle rattle for you- young voyageur lad- the greatest voyageur old Quetico’s ever seen! May your adventurous spirit continue to grow and may the waters you paddle always be serene.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 6:47 PM UTC
A
splash
overtakes
the stern and
rocks grind the
gunwales. Quick to
maneuver, draw draw
draw, easing the boat into
calmer waters; pause. A deep
breath to regain focus and scout
the stream ahead. White water, boiling
foaming writhing as it is forced reluctantly
along. Trout shimmer under the warm sun
cutting effortlessly through the brisk water.
Disrupted and scattering they flee as a stroke
breaks the surface, bubbles rise off the paddle
ascending like the decent of snowflakes falling
falling falling to the surface above. On this ground
blanketed by freshly fallen snow, water bugs dart
back and forth more quickly than the eye can see,
disturbing only a slight dimple below. These too
flee as the water is broken, cut in half, by the keel
of a slender hull sliding seductively over the surface.
The pace hastens. Unified, the paddler and boat
react and flow as one. Tipping forward over the
brink, the canoe shoots forward over thrashing
snow. Quick right. Dodging a fallen weathered
tree. Quick left. Swooping past a rocky isle.
Whitecaps breaking and eddies twisting, a
sirens song, drawing the boat closer.
Violent spray distracts from the call of
the sirens and the canoe is buffeted
from side to side rocking perilously.
Waves reach up in a welcoming
embrace as the boat quivers.
Regaining balance it soars
onward, leaving the
anguished water
with only a
fading
wake.
V
-AM
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 3:43 PM UTC
In Algonquin, before the dawn
before they’re clouds, the fog rises
tucked under the echoing loons
above the fat smell of wet soil
before the day becomes day
before you are a person
and the light of day breaks
the green sky casts a hue
incubating the lake
until life becomes life
until you become human
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
lay back and relax
go along with what the stream
will give me
sometimes fast
sometimes slow
a snag or two
to keep me grounded
watch the dappled shadows
the canopy of leaves
through closed eyes
perfect state of being
water drips with weird sound
wakes me from my splendor
turn my head
come face to face
with rutting buck
that snorts across my mug
the startled deer
has startled me
just glad to keep it upright
stag turns and runs
quiet restored
left with vision of his eyes
and the quickly narrowed pupils
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
The aqua water reflects
white sunlight
immersed within
and throughout
the lake
A wooden pier
leans toward
the other
side of the water
An empty wooden
chair sits at the edge
of the pier
a canoe is quietly
drifting amidst
next to it
Across the lake
the dark green
shapes of mountains
appear.
Beyond them, purple
mountains in misty
focus
The soft blue sky
is powder blue
with fluffs of
white clouds drifting
The flickering light
sparkles
The scene ignites
The day is serene
and still
I look at the empty
chair at the end
of the pier and
I see Mother Nature
sitting in it -
overlooking the
beauty she's created
The stirrings of
water are splashing.
The harmony of
birds singing echo
in the background.
The sky becomes a
more and more
brilliant blue
As each second
passes my heart
excitedly beats
in sync with
the experience
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
My grandfather built a canoe when I was young
A handmade wooden canoe
A canoe thats never been used
He built that old canoe in an end of life crisis
A crisis brought on by quitting smoking
Now he lives in a home for people just like him
People who don't know they're in a home
And now he remembers that old canoe
But he doesn't know my name
How many people are jealous of canoes
And now I have to wonder if he made the wrong choice
The choice he made when he quit smoking
Because I would rather die of rotting lungs
Than live on while my brain rots
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 1:37 AM UTC
Sitting here
Waiting, wishing, wanting,
I can't even focus.
The distraction of you pervades my mind's eye.
Write it down, the eye tells me
As if it were the messenger perched upon my shoulder.
Each breath that crawls in and out of my lungs feels heavy;
Saturated with wishful thoughts and flickering candle light
Like shards of glass
Shining and reflecting the unseen.
The wind blows cold here.
Can you feel it too?
When I was young, the teachers said I had a vivid imagination.
They deemed me "creative"
Because I liked to play pretend.
That 8-letter C word hasn't left me since.
I still like to play pretend, so
Let's make believe we can touch.
Put that scene on repeat please.
Ever since I was young I've had this vivid imagination.
The night I cried a monsoon for lack of you,
Somewhere between each breath lost
I found a realization of epic proportions.
I sat with myself in the dim light,
My arms wrapped around me,
White knuckles,
Cradling this vessel that felt hollow as a canoe,
Pretending the arms weren't mine, but yours.
Wanting.
In bed with the blankets tucked around my silhouette
And your thoughts in words cradled in my hands,
I can imagine your front against my back
And your warm breath on my neck.
I can almost feel… a rush of blood to my heart.
Name that song.
Sorry I have to plagiarize that thought but it comes so easily.
A rush of blood straight to the core.
Pumping, pulsing
Sometimes I just sit alone with my heart.
Close my eyes and listen to what it has to say.
It seems to tell me, hey I'm keeping your engine running, but you have to do the rest.
And I say a prayer for that motor inside my chest that keeps everything flowing
But I know that it won't do it all for me.
Isn't it miraculous to be alive?
Earlier today I thought: my God, do I have trust issues.
I'm confused about what's real and about how to believe.
I've been told plenty of things that aren't true
Like how pluto is a planet...
Just kidding it's only a moon.
But who's to say it's only a moon?
My moon is your moon and that seems pretty swell to me.
People say it's a comfort to look up
And know you see the same moon as someone far away.
Maybe I'll take that for truth.
Might as well.
What've I got to lose?
On second thought I might want to avoid that question.
What have I got to lose?
My head, my heart, my sanity...
It's a question for another day.
But for now I'm sitting here
Wishing, waiting, wanting
For my make-believe to get real already
And for all my distraction fantasy to spring to life.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC