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Pellucid pearls in northeastern
   North America since planetary birth
comprise Lakes Superior, Michigan,
     Huron, Erie, and Ontario
   (HOMES acronym) dearth
largest group of freshwater lakes on Earth
straddle Canadian–United States

   border tethering partial global girth
constituting 21% of world's surface
   fresh water species hearth
total surface equals 94,250 square miles
   And total volume equals
   5,439 cubic miles immeasurable worth.

Lake Erie from Erie tribe, abridged
   form of Iroquoian word erielhonan “long tail”
Lake Huron named by French explorers
   for Wyandot or “Hurons”
   whence they did sail
Lake Michigan likely from Ojibwa word
   mishigami “great water”

   aka outsize gold quail
Lake Ontario i.e. “Lake of Shining Waters”
   shimmering like hammered coat of mail
Lake Superior coined from French

   “lac supérieur” "upper lake",
   an emerald watery dale
   Ojibwe people called it gitchigumi
   medicinal to cure that, which might ail.

These five lakes each reside in separate basin
form a single, naturally interconnected
   body of fresh water caisson
linking east-central interior
   of North America to Atlantic Ocean
   akin to an escutcheon.

From interior to outlet at St. Lawrence River,
water flows via Superior to Michigan-
   Huron southward to Erie to avoid a shiver
finally released northward to Lake Ontario
   as like a well taut archer with his quiver.

The lakes drain a large watershed
   via many rivers as if a united olympic team
populated with approximately 35,000 islands
   this estimate not x stream
the Great Lakes region contains
   many thousands of smaller lakes,
   often called inland lakes undulating

   in cascading analogous to a fluid ream
Lake Michigan the only one located
   entirely within United States
   while the others border between
   United States and Canada
   essentially a liquid manifolded seam.

Lakes Michigan and Huron
   basically comprise a single lake,
sometimes called Lake Michigan
   Huron, combined doth make

   total area of 45,300 square miles (117,000 km2)
   have the same surface elevation of 577 feet (176 m),
   connected by 295-foot deep Straits
   of Mackinac Islands splayed like a rake.

Approximately 35,000 islands extant
   throughout oceanic like sea
largest among them Manitoulin Island
   in Lake Huron brushing up against Goliath knee.

The second-largest island
   Isle Royale in Lake Superior to boot
both of these islands contain
   multiple lakes them
   selves sacrilegious despoliation
   exceed wages of sin, hence
   further discussion, sans sanctity moot.
I chose titled topic by a fanciful whim,
nevertheless still consider my knowledge
of aforementioned material slim.

Housing multivarious biomes
register ecological syndromes
whereby constituents of NOAA
Great Lakes Environmental
Research Laboratory writ tomes.

Pellucid pearls in northeastern
North America since planetary birth
Comprise Lakes Superior, Michigan,
Huron, Erie, and Ontario dearth
Largest group of freshwater lakes on Earth
Straddle Canadian–United States border

tethering partial global girth
Constituting 21% of world's surface
freshwater species hearth
Total surface equals 94,250 square miles
And total volume equals 5,439
cubic miles immeasurable worth.

Lake Erie from Erie tribe, abridged form
of Iroquoian word erielhonan “long tail”
Lake Huron named by French explorers for
Wyandot or “Hurons” whence they did sail
Lake Michigan likely from Ojibwa word
mishigami “great water” aka outsize gold quail

Lake Ontario i.e. “Lake of Shining Waters”
shimmering like hammered coat of mail
Lake Superior coined from French “lac supérieur”
"upper lake", an emerald watery dale
Ojibwe people called it gitchigumi medicinal
to cure that, which might ail.

These five lakes each reside in separate basin
Form a single, naturally interconnected body
of fresh water caisson
Linking east-central interior of North America
to Atlantic Ocean akin to an escutcheon.

From interior to outlet at St. Lawrence River,
Water flows via Superior to Michigan-Huron
southward to Erie to avoid a shiver
Finally released northward to Lake Ontario
as like a well taut archer with his quiver.

The lakes drain a large watershed via many
rivers as an Olympic team
Populated with approximately 35,000 islands
this estimate not x stream.

The Great Lakes region contains many
thousands of smaller lakes,
Often called inland lakes undulating in
delving, cascading and brimming
analogous to a fluid ream
Lake Michigan the only one located
entirely within United States
While the others border between United States
and Canada – essentially a liquid seam.

Lakes Michigan and Huron
are basically a single lake,
Sometimes called Lake Michigan-Huron,
combined doth make
Total area of 45,300 square miles (117,000 km2)
Have the same surface elevation of 577 feet (176 m),
Connected by 295-foot deep Straits of
Mackinac Islands splayed like a rake.

Approximately 35,000 islands
extant throughout oceanic like sea
Largest among them
Manitoulin Island in Lake Huron
brushing up against Goliath knee.

The second-largest island is Isle Royale in
Lake Superior to boot
Both these islands
contain multiple lakes themselves
alive with creatures that hoot.

Unadulterated details gleaned courtesy
Mister Google, which website
buried under virtual sediment:

The Saint Lawrence Seaway
and Great Lakes Waterway connect
the Great Lakes to ocean-going vessels.

The move to wider ocean-going container ships —
which do not fit through the locks on these routes —
has limited container shipping on the lakes.

Most Great Lakes trade constitutes bulk material
and bulk freighters of Seawaymax-size
or less can move throughout
the entire lakes and out to the Atlantic.

The Great Lakes also connected
to the Gulf of Mexico
by way of the Illinois River
(from the Chicago River)
and the Mississippi River.

An alternate track is via the Illinois River
(from Chicago), to the Mississippi,
up the Ohio, and then
through the Tennessee-Tombigbee Waterway
(combination of a series
of rivers and lakes and canals),
to Mobile Bay and the Gulf.

Commercial tug-and-barge traffic
on these waterways quite heavy.

Pleasure boats can also enter or exit
the Great Lakes by way of
the Erie Canal and Hudson River in New York.

The Erie Canal connects to the Great Lakes
at the east end of Lake Erie
(at Buffalo, New York)
and at the south side of Lake Ontario
(at Oswego, New York).

The Great Lakes contain 21%
of the world’s fresh surface water:
5,472 cubic miles (22,810 km3),
or 6.0×1015 U.S. gallons (2.3×1016 liters).

This equals enough water
to cover the 48 contiguous U.S. states
to a uniform depth of 9.5 feet (2.9 m).

Although the lakes contain
a large percentage of the world's fresh water,
the Great Lakes supply only a small portion
of U.S. drinking water
on a national basis (roughly 4.2%).

Winter 2009–10 ranked somewhat mild,
the precipitation was below normal
for the Great Lakes Basin.

Mean lake levels then thought
to be slightly below
or at their levels of 2009.

An ice jam in February 2010
dropped the level in Lake St. Clair.

Since the jam got removed the level
has come back to its average.

As of March 2010, the lakes
were at the level, or slightly below,
where they were in March 2009.

The combined surface area
of the lakes equals approximately
94,250 square miles (244,100 km2)—
nearly the same size as the United Kingdom,
and larger than the U.S. states of New York,
New Jersey, Connecticut, Rhode Island,
Massachusetts, Vermont,
and New Hampshire combined.

The Great Lakes coast measures
approximately 10,500 miles (16,900 km);
however, the length of a coastline  
impossible mission to measure exactly
cuz topographical feature not well-defined.
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2018
the earth is curved - sure y’all knew that.  
but to get to the Northwest,
Interstate 84
ain’t le route plus directe

nope curve north to Ontario,
wave to Bex as I cross over
London and Toronto, also can’t recall
which poet from Rochester hails,
or did they shuffle off to Buffalo?

Crossing Erie, Huron, and Michigan Great Lakes all,
brings to mind
my mother’s birthplace,
Last of the Mohicans,
and the three years I did in the Cleveland Penitentiary,
where sun was illegal and baseball was a pretend play
of cowboys and Indians
but by god, it made me
the penitent fella I am today

Look skyward to Montreal,
yes, there he is, the Leo Priest,
the baffled king,
blessing this poetic meet ‘n greet trip
with a smiling unsurprising
hallelujah

Apparently some US citizens still can traverse O Canada,
even if one forgot their passports,
and are not PNG’s (Persons Not so GREAT)

over Minneapolis shed a tear for Diane,
a poet- gone-missing, and wonder if you reader come from
St. Cloud, Fargo or Duluth, Bismarck or Aberdeen,
surely they still speak poetic English there
in a twangy metering methodology  - well, message me asap

wow there really is a Saskatoon!

the pilot asks us to lean left in our seats
to help turn the plane
so we go to Portland and not to Vancouver...
me thinks he might be a touch Rockie Mountain High,
considering we are at 30 thousand something Imperial,
as he walks the main cabin with an oxygen mask and a
huuuuuge grin

see the distant Cascades
through a crack in the shuttered windows,
must be close to “the coast”
(as if, harrumph, there were but one)

ah, words in the clouds, ripe for the plucking
must be getting close to Oregon,
where poets grow on trees, woody words like ****,
and log-float poems down the Columbia to the sea

gonna drink me some poets
under the table cause this
trip I ain’t no driving and I am already
“flying” ‘n scribing and arriving
on a high tide and a good wind
k m hanton Apr 2014
I kissed you, once. Twice. Three or four or five
Ecstatic times, or maybe more. I kissed
You once when I shouldn't have, many more
When I should have. In a park and with Red
October on the tee-vee and Sean Connery
Somehow pretending to be Russian.

I kissed you under the fireworks
On the Fourth, and in a caboose
At your family reunion. Remember
How we'd walk around at high school
Football games, back when anything
Was possible, and AIM was popular?

Over six times: there were marshmallows,
And the old, broken, Charlotte High School gym.
When I asked you out, I'd been dared.
The first time I kissed you, I was dared. That kiss,
Cliche and on the bleachers, brought
Butterflies that I only just fought off.

You, Ashleigh, were my first love, not named
"Wrestling"-- but I went to you-ess-enn-ay
And you went to em-ess-you. You moved
To greater Lansing from Port Huron
Just as I packed up my stuff to crisscross
My way over four years to San Diego.

I kissed you, once-- or was it more?
For anyone who wonders-- I deleted my poetry in the hopes that I could be a post-internet actual book-published poet (and maybe win awards? Iono, I was young)-- a dream I hold onto, although it hasn't yet been realized (and yes, I'm still young).
For Ashleigh: Yes, this is about you. In case you didn't realize. I'm sorry we've drifted apart since 2008/2011. You were my best friend once, and I absolutely miss that friendship. You're one of the greatest people I've ever met.
Francie Lynch Jul 2023
For decades now
We have serenely, blandly,
Had the Huron horizons
To the North.
All colours of clouds,
Bringing shade or rain,
Snow and flora;
And all the shapes of Noah's zoo,
Morph approaching our soft shores
Of sandcastles and tendered fires,
Those milestone from our youth.
Our fresh waters have given much,
And taken more with wailing
For the never returners.
For mothers with terror splashing
Over  faces and maligned hearts and spirits.
The alone times of punishing memories.
Everything but...
Francie Lynch Dec 2014
The wind howls ******
Off the lake,
Yellow eyes centred
On its face,
Salivating white-capped waves.
Back arched rubbing
A cloudless night,
It claws the land,
Paws at my house,
Playing cat and mouse,
Scratching at my window.
Then crouching silent
It slowly moves,
Then springs, extended
In full flight,
Changing landscape
With one swipe.
Then like one
In the night,
It lies flat
Across my lawn,
Licking
With a milk-dish yawn,
Then prowls away.
Francie Lynch Jun 2018
We're mostly gregarious and polite,
Like most of you.
We too have our diplomatic trips 'n bumps;
We never cozied to Dicky;
But welcomed ex-pat refugees
For safe and sound reasons.
After the jimmy-rigging, how many re-pated?

And we gagged on the impeachables, all fuzzy and bitter.
He called the father that ******* in Ottawa;
And Pierre wore that moniker like The Order of Canada.
When you're not liked by one, you're a dove.

You should visit CANDU.wow
It has it all.

How is Supreme Leader managing?
Are his...
Are my people... sitting at attention.

We could real news a bomb a la Kim Jong,
Or flip a stone down at Port Huron.
We won't.
But we could if we weren't
The Great White North, so accommodating, so polite,
So Coo loo coo coo coo coo coo cooo! nice...
(for now)
The thing about dictators is, you don't know you have one til it's too late.
The CANDU is the largest nuclear reactor in the world, and used for all the ingredients needed for heat and intense heat.
There are 35 million Canadians who are the biggest importers of merchandise from 35 States, south of the border. A lot of people are going to be out of work.
"Coo loo coo..." is the theme song to the Bob and Doug McKenzie show on Second City.
Just off Highway 95

On the east side of the road

Sits a monolithic diner

Where the truckers all reload

The food's great and there's plenty

And the place is really clean

But the real reason they stop here

Is the Truck Stop Beauty Queen

She's a five foot 5 inch dynamo

A former Miss Biloxi Belle

She's a pepperpot of moxie

And a spirit you can't quell

Her hair's piled high upon her head

It's a blonde come from a bottle

Her attitude is bottle brewed

Her skin is slightly mottled

She holds court in the corner

At a little table in the back

She's telling stories to all who'll listen

And she's always talking smack

She talks about the drivers

All the people that she's seen

She's a former Miss Biloxi Belle

She's The Truckstop Beauty Queen

She used to wait the tables

Worked the till a little too

When a talent scout from Georgia

Took her back in fifty two

He sweet talked her like no one

That this girl had ever seen

He promised her the world that day

He'd put her on the silver screen

She left home in the dead of night

She left a note upon the car

You're better off without me here

And I'm better off by far

She was off to find her fortune

With her new man by her side

But by the time she reached Atlanta

She knew she'd been taken for a ride

She found out there was no future

He had no contacts, not a chance

There would be no movie stardom

She would not get to dance

She left but stayed in Georgia

She would build herself a life

She would make herself a winner

She would never be a wife

She took work in a small diner

And at night she hit the books

She was gonna help the others

Who'd be lied to for their looks

By sixty three she reached her goal

They called her to the bar

She was now  a full fledged lawyer

Could it be she'd come this far

She was adopted in Port Huron

Foster homes were all she knew

She made her mind up early

She would be one of the few

Who made it on her own accord

She would find a ticket out

Then one day in walked that stranger

That god ****** talent scout

She retired in the nineties

Though she will not say just when

And the day that she retired

She moved home to Michigan

She had no one there to meet her

When she came back home in June

She would keep her past a secret

She would sing a different tune

For she left to find her fortune

On the big old silver screen

She would come back home a winner

She would come back home a queen

She bought the little diner

On the side of ninety five

And by working there three days a week

She somehow came alive

She created little stories

Of a past she'd never had

She talked of her dear mother

And her tall,distinguished dad

The drivers loved to hear her

Tell her tales when they were by

And not one of then discovered

That her stories were all lies

She wouldn't ever mention

How she lived her life before

She would tell them just a litte

And she wouldn't say much more

She told tales of things of wonder

And of places that she'd been

And at one point she told how

She was a one time beauty queen

Now, we know that never happened

It was something in her mind

It was the reason that she left here

It was the dream she wouldn't find

But the drivers never questioned

And the diners loved the place

They came in all the time

To hear the stories, see her face

The diner was a gigantic

And three days a week t'was full

As they came to hear her stories

That they never knew were bull

The one they loved to hear

And the one she loved to tell

Was how that one day back in Georgia

She was the Miss Biloxi Belle

No one knew that she was lying

She was the best that had never been

But to all those at the diner

She was the Truckstop Beauty Queen

It's a life that never happened

Except for a few bits in between

It's the tale of Dinah Mussberg

The Truckstop Beauty Queen
Ashleigh Black May 2014
I took a walk near the lake today
and the sun shined on my face
and the waves sparkled like teal glitter
and I could hear the seagulls laughing
and I smiled because it was the first time
in a long time that I had felt pure, relaxed joy
and it wasn't because of you.
I was at our spot today and I didn't think of you. Not right away at least. Maybe this is progress. But nevertheless, I live in the most beautiful place in Michigan.
Francie Lynch Aug 2019
The wind chimes are melting,
The ponds are sweltering,
The roads run like black tea;
The flags aren't waving,
Sheets aren't sailing,
The grass looks like gold wheat.
The beaches have more bodies
Than Juno did in June;
The dogs aren't barking,
But the kids are laughing,
Their joy's not lost on me.

I should go to the banks
Of the St. Clair River,
Where the current cools
Beneath the bridges;
Read the names on the Huron freighters
Carrying coal and oil;
Eat tasty dogs and greasy fries,
The  northern breeze there never dies.

I should hover like a dragonfly,
Applaud the divers hot ******* chances,
In the dog days of their youth.
Stephanie Jun 2015
Some nights I forget to sleep. Keeping secrets in my teeth.
I'm neck deep in thoughts of you.
Drowning in words.
Great Lake blues.
You can't dig up whats dead.
So from Huron out I'll bury you in my head.
Kept secrets in sheets of my bed.
Moved out to where roses are red.
Midwest
Northwest.
My compass is ever changing.
Im unsure I will ever settle.
The girl that always keeps you waiting.
This is a piece I'm working on hopefully becoming a song. A part of me  wants to keep it as is though.
Francie Lynch Jul 2015
It was so hot yesterday
My armhair sweat,
My eyes were looking
Through a plastic bag,
My teeth were saturated.

I found the wind
Beneath the Bluewater Bridges
At the headwaters of the St. Clair.
Here I can relax my skin,
Watch the gulls maneuver,
Like your kite, Aine,
Against and with the blusters,
Gaining dive speed to vault the trestles.

The sun is burning my bones,
My blood rushes at four knots
With Huron's mouth.
I straddle the Shadow
To follow the birds,
Thinking of winter
I release a high-pitched laughing scream
That's carried back to the bridges
With my flapping shirt tails
Providing drag.
Honda 750 Shadow. Love that bike.
Francie Lynch Oct 2021
You could change the world.
You should.
Repeat this inauspicious comment to someone;
Age isn't part of the equation.
Even the youth may listen, may remember,
I should change the world.
You did. Some place, at a time unknown.
It's not so obvious as the Butterfly Effect;
Appearing subtly, less noticeable than
Pedaling into a velvet N-E Huron breeze
A walker feels on her wet lips
During a burnt Autumn stroll.
I changed,
And rocked the world
Of  my loved ones.
Ariel Baptista Aug 2015
You left me capsized on the Caspian
The bold-wind black-oil Caspian
Suicide-tower fire-altar Caspian
Cigar-smoke car-exhaust Caspian
Oh Caspian, My Caspian
How could you just let me drown?

Pacific and Atlantic and Mediterranean
Rhein and Seine and Thames  
Huron and Kagawong and Lawrence
I see you quarrel
Over who is greater
Richer older
Better bolder
Who runs cleaner fresher sweeter
Who flows stronger faster deeper
Who gave more of themself to me
Who took more of me for themself
Who has more heart
Who stole my heart
And who will possess it in the end

I don’t know

But capsized in the Caspian
Is how I learned to swim
And to stomach salt water
And to weather storms
To enjoy the taste of raw fish
Calamari caviar crab
And to both love and hate
The forceful winds
That ******* to and fro
While capsized on the Caspian
I found my home
To be not stable, not stagnant
But undertow
An invisible current clenching pulling holding gripping
Dragging tearing teaching ripping
Delivering me to what is next

Oh plastic-bag jelly-fish Caspian
Petroleum-sand mud-volcano Caspian
Sun-blazed low-land Caspian
Capsized, yes
But also baptized
I drowned in the tangles of your dark torrents
And was born again in the summer moon-tide
Francie Lynch Apr 2016
I live in Chemical Valley.
It sounds horrible:
Better you than me.
Perhaps.
I grew up here,
Where the southern sky burns
Bloodstone red,
Mixing colours with the evening suns.
The St. Clair carries Huron's ghostly horns
Past the flaring refineries,
To Detroit's waters.
We have stop signs
And other amenities
Small cities are proud to maintain.
I heard the housing market
Is sustained on the divorce rate,
And not the petro-chemical industry;
We're closing another high school next year;
And there was a gruesome woodlot-****/******
Last week on the Reserve.
Maniacs living out some sick web-site.
But the soccer pitches are full,
And our Mayor is the longest serving one in Canada.
Just around the corner
(everything is just around the corner),
Our flag flies over the bones of our second Prime Minister,
(he's from Edinburgh, Scotland);
I've walked a good stretch of the fifty miles
Of beach we have running north,
Past cottages, parks, camps, etc.
We've way too many ***-holes;
And for many years,
We were featured on the ten dollar bill.

But the new houses!
Who is buying them as we move eastward,
Away from the lake and river?
Newly minted single moms;
Rejected men.
We lived in one house,
Once,
One house.
We now occupy five.
Two of which
Are too far away
From Chemical Valley.
Sarnia, Ontario, Canada is referred to as Chemical Valley.
Francie Lynch Mar 2018
There's a Route 22 near you.
A licorice asphalt road,
Twisting as opposing currents of time,
With anticipation and apprehension,
From home, to unknowns,
From comfort to expectations.
A rural ribbon of signage,
And milestones.

I traveled mine yesterday,
In an overdue Spring,
From Melrose to Bright's Grove.
I writhe and bend with its winding,
Former times arise like heat waves;
Mirage puddles flood my head,
Always just out of reach.

I recalled hitchhiking through Warwick,
As I backtrack,
And almost stop
For one today on the curve
Where they sell the garden gnomes.
I once looked wryly at them
When waiting across the road.

Sprawling upright over the northern landscape,
Towards the Co-ops of Arkona,
And the beer store in Thedford,
Wind farms thrive like techno giants,
In a mutant Utopian world.

****** Mary's red sign no longer hangs
Outside the white house in Lobo,
Where she could bring you in touch
With your dead.
Poplar Hill's trees no longer snow in the summer,
The water wheels are seized, barns are exposed.
The lofts collapsed.

I had to stop near a culvert, to listen to the sound of run-off,
The melt reflecting the transition under the sun,
Converging at Black Creek, Pulse Creek, or Cow Creek,
Carrying forward to the St. Clair River and Lake Huron,
Then onward and back.

Weathered iron fences enclose pioneer graves;
Settlers who cleared the dense Lambton forests,
And made the first ruts along my way,
With wagonfuls of backache.
I know well how you fared on our Route.
Warwick: In Canada, we pronounce the second "w".
Cedric McClester Jan 2016
By; Cedric McClester

The Governor apologized
But the people of Flint realized
He had pulled the wool over their eyes
With contaminated water supplies
It happened when he switched the source
From Lake Huron to the Flint River, of course
It was to save money but he now has remorse
And his voice is starting to get hoarse

And if the people needed further proof
To realize that somebody goofed
Now the lead levels have gone through the roof
And this is the naked truth
See it’s gone from bad to worst
And the damage can’t be reversed
So the people are feeling cursed
They need bottled water to quench their thirst

They’re drawing Lake Huron water once more
And that’s a good restart for sure
Although it isn’t a magical cure
Cuz the water will remain unpure
Until the water is filtered and the pipes are clean
The lead will be there albeit unseen
Negatively affecting the brains and the spleen
The people will still be betwixed and between

It was the Governor’s people they say
That made it all happen that way
And to date no one’s had to pay
For the damages or for the delay
In rectifying the situation
The people have had to be patient
Listening to their public relations
But who’s answering the allegations?
















Cedric McClester, Copyright 2016.  All rights reserved.
clmathew Mar 2021
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.
Thank you to Mel and Jeff, my pastors in high school and college, who were brave enough to lead a youth who had hardly seen a river or lake on these canoe trips that I still remember today.
Francie Lynch Aug 2015
Happy Face Variety
Has new owners,
From Punjab.

They are way friendly.

I was renting,
Far From the Madding Crowd,
Ben said:
Many people were renting movies tonight.

Yeah, the dog day's of summer.

Explanations and examples ensued.
The change in season.
Replace old anxieties with new.
The surety of autumn expectations.
The heat swirling in the ceiling fans.
The setting sun on Lake Huron.
All the dog days.

And Ashna said:
Like the dog curling up to sleep.*

They are way welcome.
Francie Lynch Mar 2022
I scanned the old man
Through my translucent curtain.
He stood before my door, hand raised,
Seeming ready to knock.
Wires ran into his large ears;
His waddle swayed over his crew neck,
Beneath a brown corduroy jacket.
Liver spots crowned his wispy head,
And the back of his hand.
He listed and bobbed
Like a Huron laker waiting to unload.
He had a distinct and not unfamiliar look;
A man with full faculties.
I opened the door to him,
But he said, "It's not time."
"Time?" I asked.
"To let me in."
And that time hasn't come as of yet.
Satsih Verma Nov 2016
Sun breaks
on green lake―
into myriad of white birds,
fluttering their wings.

In wet grass
you sink, inviting the black clouds,
to hear the echoes.

You follow the sunset
in a glass of wine,
to become complete again.
Francie Lynch Jan 2016
It's cold, **** cold,
I blame the north wind.
It pushes the ice on Huron
Against the shore
Making great dunes of frozen water,
Cooling the wind passing over.
It penetrates my outer layer,
Warming itself between inner clothes.
Dampening my cheek;
Cold whispers in my ears;
A cruel embrace,
Girdling me,
Seductive as the dead.
It wraps my house
Like it knows my address;
An unannounced visitor,
Reluctant to leave.
It's mid-January;
Glad the sun's casting
Longer shadows,
Before the wind retires.
Brrrr!
Camara C Dec 2011
Huron, Ontario, Michigan, Erie, Superior.


You have always loved me.
Francie Lynch Jan 2015
The Huron waters
Don't breach their shores,
The heavenly bodies
Don't leave their spheres;
Fireworks don't
Fill my eyes;
My love is not ethereal
Not everlasting
Or transcendental.
My love is comely.
Factual not fictional.
Less passion with caution.
I love you when
I bring your morning coffee
As your day opens.
I love you when
I bring a snack
And say, Corpus Mea,
And fall forever.
Hold my hand.
I love you in comely ways.
DElizabeth Sep 2023
S I D E      A
"already mine"         : us the duo
"us"                           : james bay
"broken things"        : clairity
"the night we met"   : lord huron
"delicate"                   : taylor swift
"life me up"               : mree

S I D E       B
"august"                                        : flipturn
"stupid"                                         : lizzy mcalpine
"i love you"                                   : billie eilish
"mirrorball"                                  : taylor swift
"through the dark"                      : alexi murdoch
"if you ever want to be in love"    : james bay
gray
Traci Eklund Mar 2014
On the waters edge of old Huron,
lays islands in the mist,
the horizon composed of opaque grey...

Tarnished oaks of spring
offer their ****** buds to rays of sunlight,
to unfurl life,
to sacrifice a selfless offering,
to blossom beauty,
metamorph into shade...

To wilt and wallow with the winds of autumn.
To solemnly parish with flakes of snow.
From birth to death may you serve a purpose...
grow with beauty,
and die with grace.
Be thankful for the day before us,
and the day we envietably fade...
Francie Lynch Feb 2015
The St. Clair flowed
Towards Erie,
As we walked to
The headwaters,
Where Huron emptied
So seemingly endless.

On Sunday drives
I never noticed signposts
Flying by.

On the court, Love,
I crouched, amazed,
At your service game,
Never ready for
The backhand.

Idle times lead
The girls to womanhood.
I'm left with celebrations
On celluloid,
And digital grasps
And loosening fingers.
Delaney Sep 2012
One year, two, three
All of it blurs together.
My whole childhood,
gone in the blink of an eye.
Washed away with the waves of Huron.
In this moment,
the last of an era,
I want to stay.
I want to gather it,
pieces and fragments of seventeen years,
Into a blanket, surrounding me.
Close to me, within reach,
So it can't escape me.
Like if I wade in this deep blue,
Further and further,
I won't grow up.
Ryan P Kinney Oct 2019
by Divine, Kadie Good, Bambi Cruz, gimad@mail.com, Mar Del Sol

The protruding odor illuminated my existence.
A stench to verify that I was there.
Smell me. Smell me.
I have a scent. I do not lament.
I reek not of recompense.

I am scared and lonely
I am going to succeed
I am not lost
I am here

The sum of our world:
Candle flames and forest fire
Thailand and Belgium
Public and local
All of our experience
Your tears from afar
The red sunset of a lake
Erie and Huron
World War to some peace
The world around shaped me
Like rocks to the rain.

The soul stands in a loud mind
Trying to listen,
but the ideas are listless.
It wants to be something.

Blank, without definition
Trying to understand being –
But failing, with each whim
Nothing, Trying, Coping
Lost and Without.
Francie Lynch May 2018
I shooed a June bug
Off my front screen door;
The freighters' fog horns
Roll on The Huron and St. Clair.
The mist rises like incense
From the black tar on Spartan,
Still a warm May drizzle drifts tonight,
Anointing gardens and lawns.
And Beulah, my new magnolia,
Blossomed yellow for me this year.
But Brigid and Ophelia,
Heralded my Spring,
Brought warmth and light,
With a fresh green lease to everything.
The twin granddaughters, Born May 1.

— The End —