"houseboat" poems - Hello Poetry

I am from vivid dreams. I am from fire licking and consuming the darkness. I am from a wild imagination and a logical consciousness. I am from the Mississippi River, moonlight glinting off my cat's eyes, and paint on paper. I am from the shattered shadows of leaves rustling in the wind on a brisk, early July morning. I am from BOO! and AHH! in ****** ****** voices, the way flashlight beams dim as we use them for Morse Code throughout the endless summer nights. I am from jumping in the dark off our houseboat into the void of black that you would call Lake Powell companioned only by the Milky Way. I am from glow sticks and silence. I am from cracked rainbows and shattered windows. I am from lifeless wishes and broken promises. I am from baby turtles making their way to the sea. I am from moths breaking free of the cocoon that has held them prisoner for oh so long. I am from rippling stars ringing outward on the surface of a crystal puddle after a tear has fallen, not from my eyes, but from my soul, eternally lost. I am from outer space, galaxies beyond imagination so drown me in a heavy dose of fantasy.

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Apr 24, 2013

Apr 24, 2013 at 10:50 PM UTC

movitaluna

Drown Me In Fantasy

I am from vivid dreams. I am from fire licking and consuming the darkness. I am from a wild imagination and a logical consciousness. I am from the Mississippi River, moonlight glinting off my cat's eyes, and paint on paper. I am from the shattered shadows of leaves rustling in the wind on a brisk, early July morning. I am from BOO! and AHH! in ****** ****** voices, the way flashlight beams dim as we use them for Morse Code throughout the endless summer nights. I am from jumping in the dark off our houseboat into the void of black that you would call Lake Powell companioned only by the Milky Way. I am from glow sticks and silence. I am from cracked rainbows and shattered windows. I am from lifeless wishes and broken promises. I am from baby turtles making their way to the sea. I am from moths breaking free of the cocoon that has held them prisoner for oh so long. I am from rippling stars ringing outward on the surface of a crystal puddle after a tear has fallen, not from my eyes, but from my soul, eternally lost. I am from outer space, galaxies beyond imagination so drown me in a heavy dose of fantasy.

45

Kept in a box Back of the closet Remnants of time Curios of place Before she was Someone's mother London Bridge Houseboat Out on the water Fun with inner tube Pink lipstick Little black bikini Games afoot Cocktail in hand Sunny smile Saucy wink Natural grace Hair let down Playful air Provocative pose Naked as a Jaybird Happy as a Lark

0

Mar 12, 2020

Mar 12, 2020 at 2:49 PM UTC

Carlo-C-Gomez

Polaroids of Mom

Kept in a box Back of the closet Remnants of time Curios of place Before she was Someone's mother London Bridge Houseboat Out on the water Fun with inner tube Pink lipstick Little black bikini Games afoot Cocktail in hand Sunny smile Saucy wink Natural grace Hair let down Playful air Provocative pose Naked as a Jaybird Happy as a Lark

22

fill the entire page with snowy enlightenment fool nobody else five five five five five seven seven seven oops five five five five five contentment I guess can only be recognized from its shadow, cast direction is offered by the learned minds afar it’s a time machine a houseboat with pool a brown pigeon on a leash a dumb dream again snows a comin’ up a ledger of snow, in banks I now coin this phrase so bright very white crystals fall from the gray sky shoveling diamonds pick an argument forget yourself for awhile then just go away too many people smoking piles of well meaning it tempts the silence sixty divisible one through six ten twelve fifteen twenty and thirty imagination a substitute for answers all we do is dream

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Dec 15, 2013

Dec 15, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC

jimmy-tee

Formatted to Fit your Screen Haiku on a Sunday Morning in Vermont

fill the entire page with snowy enlightenment fool nobody else five five five five five seven seven seven oops five five five five five contentment I guess can only be recognized from its shadow, cast direction is offered by the learned minds afar it’s a time machine a houseboat with pool a brown pigeon on a leash a dumb dream again snows a comin’ up a ledger of snow, in banks I now coin this phrase so bright very white crystals fall from the gray sky shoveling diamonds pick an argument forget yourself for awhile then just go away too many people smoking piles of well meaning it tempts the silence sixty divisible one through six ten twelve fifteen twenty and thirty imagination a substitute for answers all we do is dream

33

Mary had a houseboat. She bought it with the money she made selling lamb chops.

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Jan 28, 2015

Jan 28, 2015 at 3:59 PM UTC

david-ehrgott

Riverboat Mary

Mary had a houseboat. She bought it with the money she made selling lamb chops.

3

The back bending makes way for the animal medicine. A changeling on the run— playing with the fanciful menagerie on a houseboat. Mixing lamp oil with years—materials set on fire. No thing is no longer the game so begins a shock of names. The polished look of the dancer inspired—sure as the peacock she checked out, "What's up, Showing Off? You look like the tribal leader."

0

Oct 23, 2011

Oct 23, 2011 at 10:28 AM UTC

nisa-west

XXII.

The back bending makes way for the animal medicine. A changeling on the run— playing with the fanciful menagerie on a houseboat. Mixing lamp oil with years—materials set on fire. No thing is no longer the game so begins a shock of names. The polished look of the dancer inspired—sure as the peacock she checked out, "What's up, Showing Off? You look like the tribal leader."

1

I am not your houseboat. You have tied me down and yet I still float and drift I rise and fall with the tide and the waves just as the moon intended i am not your home, you have not made me permanent you have painted me a more vibrant color but when the light is gone i turn back into dull I am a rental apartment a temporary "home" i am just the in between of finding better and "this'll do" you fill me with things you love and enjoy and then you leave on vacation and you stay at another hotel camp apartment houseboat and when you come back and everything is the same, worn in and used slightly but still there like you intended leaving me hoping for some odd reason that when the door opens it will still be you yet until the lights are switched on and the buzzes with the static will the dust lift and the dull fade but until then i am simply a houseboat a rental a temporary fix maybe one day i will become permanent

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Sep 21, 2017

Sep 21, 2017 at 12:36 AM UTC

danela

Houseboat

I am not your houseboat. You have tied me down and yet I still float and drift I rise and fall with the tide and the waves just as the moon intended i am not your home, you have not made me permanent you have painted me a more vibrant color but when the light is gone i turn back into dull I am a rental apartment a temporary "home" i am just the in between of finding better and "this'll do" you fill me with things you love and enjoy and then you leave on vacation and you stay at another hotel camp apartment houseboat and when you come back and everything is the same, worn in and used slightly but still there like you intended leaving me hoping for some odd reason that when the door opens it will still be you yet until the lights are switched on and the buzzes with the static will the dust lift and the dull fade but until then i am simply a houseboat a rental a temporary fix maybe one day i will become permanent

32

he moves the pace of the river, his home a houseboat he eschews dry land, for that is where they are all buried: a wife, his only son, the anonymous victims of his rifle's rabid rattle whatever ghostly litany lives in the lapping of waves against his hull remains mystery to him on the water he'll stay, drifting downstream until he reaches the sea where he hopes he'll have no memory of hard earth and tormenting souls

0

May 13, 2017

May 13, 2017 at 1:05 PM UTC

spysgrandson

on water

he moves the pace of the river, his home a houseboat he eschews dry land, for that is where they are all buried: a wife, his only son, the anonymous victims of his rifle's rabid rattle whatever ghostly litany lives in the lapping of waves against his hull remains mystery to him on the water he'll stay, drifting downstream until he reaches the sea where he hopes he'll have no memory of hard earth and tormenting souls

12

It’s lovely to live on a boat So mobile a dwelling and remote, But beaching in sand To dock on dry land, Is nicer than bobbing afloat.

0

Mar 20, 2024

Mar 20, 2024 at 10:29 PM UTC

david-plantinga

Houseboat

It’s lovely to live on a boat So mobile a dwelling and remote, But beaching in sand To dock on dry land, Is nicer than bobbing afloat.

5

My entire body sways And my feet don't feel solid beneath me I own no property Haven't a neighbor I can see Perhaps I can just Make friends with the fishes Or perhaps I will just let them be My houseboat will have Everything that I need; My guitars My notebooks Some games And just me Because no one's invited On my houseboat Unless They truly believe My houseboat's The best

0

Feb 13, 2018

Feb 13, 2018 at 4:14 AM UTC

vickmandrake

A Houseboat!!

My entire body sways And my feet don't feel solid beneath me I own no property Haven't a neighbor I can see Perhaps I can just Make friends with the fishes Or perhaps I will just let them be My houseboat will have Everything that I need; My guitars My notebooks Some games And just me Because no one's invited On my houseboat Unless They truly believe My houseboat's The best

19

Navigating Life My house is a boat drifting down a river; I’m mystified by rivers why do they recklessly seek the ocean and oblivion? Do a river, think, it can have a calming effect on the giant, ease its uncontrollable rages and influence ocean’s flows and landfalls? I’m here against my will, owner of a houseboat I dread the great oceans its vastness gives me a phobia I’m compelled to conquer or live my life in terror. The river and I are siblings finding it difficult to accept the ending of the script that’s written just for us.

0

Sep 26, 2016

Sep 26, 2016 at 5:38 AM UTC

jan-oskar-hansen

navigating life

Navigating Life My house is a boat drifting down a river; I’m mystified by rivers why do they recklessly seek the ocean and oblivion? Do a river, think, it can have a calming effect on the giant, ease its uncontrollable rages and influence ocean’s flows and landfalls? I’m here against my will, owner of a houseboat I dread the great oceans its vastness gives me a phobia I’m compelled to conquer or live my life in terror. The river and I are siblings finding it difficult to accept the ending of the script that’s written just for us.

13

Lou Tate was a man I won't soon forget He had a wry smile and a sarcastic wit If you told him one joke, he'd tell you two Then he'd tell one more ripper before he was through No one who knew him knew quite the same man You might say that Lou didn't follow a plan He knew how to have fun for most any reason Then climb into the houseboat no matter the season At work those who knew him would say without doubt That getting things done was what Lou was about When it seemed that a problem just couldn't be solved It was precisely when Lou became hyper involved Though most solutions were unorthodox The bulk of his thinking was outside the box Although his ideas weren't always well known His name's on the first patented multi-line phone Lou was once quite the loner...not easy to catch But he knew that in Mary Ann he'd met his match Then he suffered a stroke and it gave him a scare It was then that he recognized how much she cared When they both said "I do" with or without wealth Till death they united in sickness and health Their unbreakable bond would make others see What steadfast devotion to one's spouse should be.

0

Feb 27, 2021

Feb 27, 2021 at 1:03 AM UTC

AVerseCity

In Memory of Lou Tate

Lou Tate was a man I won't soon forget He had a wry smile and a sarcastic wit If you told him one joke, he'd tell you two Then he'd tell one more ripper before he was through No one who knew him knew quite the same man You might say that Lou didn't follow a plan He knew how to have fun for most any reason Then climb into the houseboat no matter the season At work those who knew him would say without doubt That getting things done was what Lou was about When it seemed that a problem just couldn't be solved It was precisely when Lou became hyper involved Though most solutions were unorthodox The bulk of his thinking was outside the box Although his ideas weren't always well known His name's on the first patented multi-line phone Lou was once quite the loner...not easy to catch But he knew that in Mary Ann he'd met his match Then he suffered a stroke and it gave him a scare It was then that he recognized how much she cared When they both said "I do" with or without wealth Till death they united in sickness and health Their unbreakable bond would make others see What steadfast devotion to one's spouse should be.

24

Late afternoon, daylight is broken by clouds coming through. Top split, branches bent, dead grey tree stays in one place. Dark blue sky hues vent wind and water while lightning and thunder vibrates the ground with a growl like rumble. Droplets fall fierce as dragons who lost their wings mid-flight pounding the ceiling; No fire breath in sight. The concrete, light grey to white becomes wet brown. I sit down, door open, to hear the storm, watching puddles form like my grandpa used to do. A rogue river of water runs by and around my window making my guard shack feel like Huck Finn’s flat bottom, houseboat floating on the mighty Mississippi. Now nature’s muse is loose. My eyes burn heavy. I long to lose the burden of consciousness and sleep through this not out of boredom but from the sweet bliss of this early evening storming.

0

Jan 8, 2017

Jan 8, 2017 at 10:31 AM UTC

graff1980

Storming

Late afternoon, daylight is broken by clouds coming through. Top split, branches bent, dead grey tree stays in one place. Dark blue sky hues vent wind and water while lightning and thunder vibrates the ground with a growl like rumble. Droplets fall fierce as dragons who lost their wings mid-flight pounding the ceiling; No fire breath in sight. The concrete, light grey to white becomes wet brown. I sit down, door open, to hear the storm, watching puddles form like my grandpa used to do. A rogue river of water runs by and around my window making my guard shack feel like Huck Finn’s flat bottom, houseboat floating on the mighty Mississippi. Now nature’s muse is loose. My eyes burn heavy. I long to lose the burden of consciousness and sleep through this not out of boredom but from the sweet bliss of this early evening storming.

53