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"paddling" poems
Manila, Manila, Your bustling streets vibrate with the rumbling of the jeepneys and the hollers of the drivers as they say, “Pasahero diyan, kasya pa, kasya pa!”; (Any passenger there, some seats are still free!) Your nights twinkle with the Christmas lights that surround every tree around the Meralco building when September begins; Your endless traffic jams keep McDonald’s and KFC alive twenty-four by seven where traffic enforcers dodge cars and vans trucks and tricycles and jeepneys and bicycles while dancing to the rhythm beating in their own ears with a smile and a salute to all the drivers from dawn to dusk; The noise awakens the outskirts of your city filled with people who never fails to smile even when the storm pirouettes like a tempestuous ballerina, where children watch the roads transform into this ocean of black water and small wooden boats become the means of transportation; paddling in between houses as the adults try to go to work; where chickens waddling upon roofs and cats chasing rats become the best forms of entertainment but Manila, your lingering smell of cancer comes with the dark blue starless sky telling people to grip their bags until it merges with their bodies. Manila, say good night while they hold it tight protecting it from the dark humid air where thieves come out to thumb down unscrutinised objects from shallow pockets by the flickering lamps across the blazing red and emerald green lights you see less and less and less faces as the Sun sinks and says good bye. Stop and try to tranquilise yourself. Your city is now lead by a blood-thirsty leader. Apologies from gunshots overpower the cries of help from your people. Manila, ignore them and sleep well. Let the truth decay while lives burn and vanish. Prayers cannot save your mutinous ignominy. Halcyon days are over but Manila, you are still a beautiful city. Your resilient people overflows with hospitable hearts. Their faces plastered with big smiles as they welcome us for you and say, “Mabuhay!” (Long live!) proud and mighty. Offering their minds on banana leaf plates to everyone who visits, Giving away their hearts in small loot bags to everyone who leaves, The Pearl of the Orient Seas was my hood. Manila, despite your lack of snow and intense weather swings, You are and will always be my home.
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Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 4:54 PM UTC
Pearl of the Orient
Manila, Manila, Your bustling streets vibrate with the rumbling of the jeepneys and the hollers of the drivers as they say, “Pasahero diyan, kasya pa, kasya pa!”; (Any passenger there, some seats are still free!) Your nights twinkle with the Christmas lights that surround every tree around the Meralco building when September begins; Your endless traffic jams keep McDonald’s and KFC alive twenty-four by seven where traffic enforcers dodge cars and vans trucks and tricycles and jeepneys and bicycles while dancing to the rhythm beating in their own ears with a smile and a salute to all the drivers from dawn to dusk; The noise awakens the outskirts of your city filled with people who never fails to smile even when the storm pirouettes like a tempestuous ballerina, where children watch the roads transform into this ocean of black water and small wooden boats become the means of transportation; paddling in between houses as the adults try to go to work; where chickens waddling upon roofs and cats chasing rats become the best forms of entertainment but Manila, your lingering smell of cancer comes with the dark blue starless sky telling people to grip their bags until it merges with their bodies. Manila, say good night while they hold it tight protecting it from the dark humid air where thieves come out to thumb down unscrutinised objects from shallow pockets by the flickering lamps across the blazing red and emerald green lights you see less and less and less faces as the Sun sinks and says good bye. Stop and try to tranquilise yourself. Your city is now lead by a blood-thirsty leader. Apologies from gunshots overpower the cries of help from your people. Manila, ignore them and sleep well. Let the truth decay while lives burn and vanish. Prayers cannot save your mutinous ignominy. Halcyon days are over but Manila, you are still a beautiful city. Your resilient people overflows with hospitable hearts. Their faces plastered with big smiles as they welcome us for you and say, “Mabuhay!” (Long live!) proud and mighty. Offering their minds on banana leaf plates to everyone who visits, Giving away their hearts in small loot bags to everyone who leaves, The Pearl of the Orient Seas was my hood. Manila, despite your lack of snow and intense weather swings, You are and will always be my home.
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76
I swim, under the twilight sky, my heart is pounding & my arms are paddling, struggling to breathe, yet I push on, to reach the other wall. I hear, muffled splashes across the lanes as swimmers glide by, though I could hardly see, yet I could feel, one of them fills the pool. I wonder, why I press on, for my health or my heart? by now my legs are aching and my arms are heavy, yet it is a joy, to be in my hiding place.
0
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 10:39 PM UTC
The Pool - My Hiding Place
A ****** of crows, an ostentation of peacocks, a parliament of owls, a knot of frogs, a skulk of foxes, a siege of herons, a paddling of ducks, a charm of finches. This bevy of birds is a vocabulary find, But what can it all mean, In the world of human being? A troop of toddlers, a slurry of students, a gaggle of gentry, a bevy of boys. I am of a mind that in naming of kind Human being is best defined.
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Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 11:46 AM UTC
A Gaggle of Geese
I wonder why you want to row When there are just so many terms to know Before you get in the boat and place an oar in the water, Before you take a single stroke don’t think you ought to Remind yourself of what they are, these parts and pieces, Actions and orders that rowers use (but poets don’t) So forgive me if I leave some out.   Let’s take a look at the boat (or rather the shell): The seat you sit on, ​slides, backstop, shoes and riggers.   The skeg that stabilizes the shell, ​shoulder, saxboard, and pogies. The top-nut that keeps the rowlock in place, ​swivel, stretcher and rollers.   Now for the oar (or rather the scull): There’s the Spoon blade, the Macon blade, ​Smoothie or Tulip.   Ready (or not) for the stroke you take ? An Airstroke (in the air) , ​backsplash, backwater, or body stroke,   Go on bury the blade, check the cover, ​ but don’t catch a crab! Mind out for the drunken spider, ​watch the feather and the finish,   Inside hand, outside hand, ​hands away, miss the water, Leg back, lie back, ​pause the paddling, watch the pitch,   Release and recover, ​don’t shoot your slide, Swing the stroke rate, ​and space those puddles.   Careful there’s no skying, ​and absolutely no washing out.   Ready for a repecharge? Or perhaps you’d prefer an egg-beater? Ask the *** to call a flutter.   Easy oars ​Hold her hard Ship oars ​One foot up & out Waist, ready, up ​Shoulders, ready, up ​Way enough!
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Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 2:14 AM UTC
A Poet's Guide to Rowing
What was he doing, the great god Pan, Down in the reeds by the river? Spreading ruin and scattering ban, Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, And breaking the golden lilies afloat With the dragon-fly on the river. He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, From the deep cool bed of the river: The limpid water turbidly ran, And the broken lilies a-dying lay, And the dragon-fly had fled away, Ere he brought it out of the river. High on the shore sat the great god Pan, While turbidly flowed the river; And hacked and hewed as a great god can, With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed, Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeed To prove it fresh from the river. He cut it short, did the great god Pan, (How tall it stood in the river!) Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, Steadily from the outside ring, And notched the poor dry empty thing In holes, as he sat by the river. “This is the way,” laughed the great god Pan, (Laughed while he sat by the river) “The only way, since gods began To make sweet music, they could succeed.” Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, He blew in power by the river. Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan! Piercing sweet by the river! Blinding sweet, O great god Pan! The sun on the hill forgot to die, And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly Came back to dream on the river. Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, To laugh as he sits by the river, Making a poet out of a man: The true gods sigh for the cost and pain— For the reed which grows nevermore again As a reed with the reeds in the river.
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4.1k
A Musical Instrument
What was he doing, the great god Pan, Down in the reeds by the river? Spreading ruin and scattering ban, Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, And breaking the golden lilies afloat With the dragon-fly on the river. He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, From the deep cool bed of the river: The limpid water turbidly ran, And the broken lilies a-dying lay, And the dragon-fly had fled away, Ere he brought it out of the river. High on the shore sat the great god Pan, While turbidly flowed the river; And hacked and hewed as a great god can, With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed, Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeed To prove it fresh from the river. He cut it short, did the great god Pan, (How tall it stood in the river!) Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, Steadily from the outside ring, And notched the poor dry empty thing In holes, as he sat by the river. “This is the way,” laughed the great god Pan, (Laughed while he sat by the river) “The only way, since gods began To make sweet music, they could succeed.” Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, He blew in power by the river. Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan! Piercing sweet by the river! Blinding sweet, O great god Pan! The sun on the hill forgot to die, And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly Came back to dream on the river. Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, To laugh as he sits by the river, Making a poet out of a man: The true gods sigh for the cost and pain— For the reed which grows nevermore again As a reed with the reeds in the river.
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42
For once, I'm at a loss for words I can't write eloquence into our anniversary yesterday Because it was magical in and of itself You planned me a quiet picnic in the woods, just you and me Cooking hot dogs on a charcoal grill we didn't know how to use And eating chicken salad Going kayaking was a dream, paddling along On a quiet tributary to a bigger lake, we went back into the woods We sat in our little floating craft and talked about first kisses and magic We wondered at how simple acts could have led us apart and how happy we are together I noticed the calmness of the water and the intricacies of the ripples when I indulged my paddle into the stream We were out for an hour, just paddling along Talking, living, laughing, loving together. Just being together We eventually made our way back in, an hour car ride away from home Talking some more, laughing together, enjoying the company We went back to my place and ate dinner with my family Shrimp Scampi with salad and bread Then roasted marshmallows and laughed when they became torches Nothing is better than marshmallows with the people you love After that we set up my hammock and just swung there and watched the sun slip below the horizon Taking in the scenery, we didn't need to talk, because there was nothing more that could have been said It was magical until my little brother came over to us and asked why we weren't talking and called us boring But he doesn't understand, not quite yet Not until he is sitting on a hammock with a girl, and knows there isn't anything to say It was a beautiful day, wonderful by itself
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May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 8:55 AM UTC
Anniversary
For once, I'm at a loss for words I can't write eloquence into our anniversary yesterday Because it was magical in and of itself You planned me a quiet picnic in the woods, just you and me Cooking hot dogs on a charcoal grill we didn't know how to use And eating chicken salad Going kayaking was a dream, paddling along On a quiet tributary to a bigger lake, we went back into the woods We sat in our little floating craft and talked about first kisses and magic We wondered at how simple acts could have led us apart and how happy we are together I noticed the calmness of the water and the intricacies of the ripples when I indulged my paddle into the stream We were out for an hour, just paddling along Talking, living, laughing, loving together. Just being together We eventually made our way back in, an hour car ride away from home Talking some more, laughing together, enjoying the company We went back to my place and ate dinner with my family Shrimp Scampi with salad and bread Then roasted marshmallows and laughed when they became torches Nothing is better than marshmallows with the people you love After that we set up my hammock and just swung there and watched the sun slip below the horizon Taking in the scenery, we didn't need to talk, because there was nothing more that could have been said It was magical until my little brother came over to us and asked why we weren't talking and called us boring But he doesn't understand, not quite yet Not until he is sitting on a hammock with a girl, and knows there isn't anything to say It was a beautiful day, wonderful by itself
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26
*take me to your serenity.. so you feel joy in the deserted .. give me a privilege  and a name .. in order to reign in your heart and in it excite plump body .. can't run and hide from the conscience  .. could not bear the will of passion flame .. the soul has long been frozen and can't be extinguished to felt .. i want to give a bear hug  to a small shoulder and  crushing the faithfully .. creeps passionate embrace your body with longing coals .. kissing  your thin lips deeply  until it burn your desire.. **** your tongue wild  until unsatisfied romance .. licking strong passion in your chest until bubbling subsided .. shake your wild fantasy to  spoiling you with endless fondling .. your night is ocean impression that never fade.. wading and paddling memories together .. beautiful, warm and whole in your arms..* ┈┈┈┈»̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶  ƦУ  »̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ hadirkan aku dalam heningmu agar tenang engkau dalam sepi.. beri aku sebuah gelar dan nama.. agar dapat kubertahta dalam hatimu dan berkuasa dalam tubuhmu.. tak dapat nurani untuk berlari sembunyi.. tak sanggup kodrati diri memikul rasa.. lama jiwa itu membeku dan padam hingga tak sempat merasa.. inginku peluk hingga remuk pundak kecil kesetiaanmu.. mendekap gigil gairah tubuhmu dengan bara kerinduan.. melumat tuntas gelisah bibir tipismu hingga bergetar lunglai.. menghisap liar asmara lidahmu hingga terpuasi.. merengguk hasrat peluhmu yang berjatuhan hingga terpulasi.. menggagahi kencang gairah didadamu hingga membuncah surut.. menyetubuhi manjamu dengan cumbuan tak berkesudahan.. malammu adalah  samudra kesan tak berpudar.. mengarungi  kenangan dan mengayuh kebersamaan.. indah, hangat dan luruh dalam dekapan..
0
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC
copulate with conscience
*take me to your serenity.. so you feel joy in the deserted .. give me a privilege  and a name .. in order to reign in your heart and in it excite plump body .. can't run and hide from the conscience  .. could not bear the will of passion flame .. the soul has long been frozen and can't be extinguished to felt .. i want to give a bear hug  to a small shoulder and  crushing the faithfully .. creeps passionate embrace your body with longing coals .. kissing  your thin lips deeply  until it burn your desire.. **** your tongue wild  until unsatisfied romance .. licking strong passion in your chest until bubbling subsided .. shake your wild fantasy to  spoiling you with endless fondling .. your night is ocean impression that never fade.. wading and paddling memories together .. beautiful, warm and whole in your arms..* ┈┈┈┈»̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶  ƦУ  »̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ hadirkan aku dalam heningmu agar tenang engkau dalam sepi.. beri aku sebuah gelar dan nama.. agar dapat kubertahta dalam hatimu dan berkuasa dalam tubuhmu.. tak dapat nurani untuk berlari sembunyi.. tak sanggup kodrati diri memikul rasa.. lama jiwa itu membeku dan padam hingga tak sempat merasa.. inginku peluk hingga remuk pundak kecil kesetiaanmu.. mendekap gigil gairah tubuhmu dengan bara kerinduan.. melumat tuntas gelisah bibir tipismu hingga bergetar lunglai.. menghisap liar asmara lidahmu hingga terpuasi.. merengguk hasrat peluhmu yang berjatuhan hingga terpulasi.. menggagahi kencang gairah didadamu hingga membuncah surut.. menyetubuhi manjamu dengan cumbuan tak berkesudahan.. malammu adalah  samudra kesan tak berpudar.. mengarungi  kenangan dan mengayuh kebersamaan.. indah, hangat dan luruh dalam dekapan..
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34
the lake bed was uneven a mosaic of large rocks loose and dancing under foot with each shuffled step an interchange of unreliable shallows and inconsistent depths he wasn't particularly keen only willing to venture in up to his chest reluctant to advance if he couldn't plant paws firmly on soil    or stone not even the lure of food was enough to tempt him; though he wanted his treat a reward    for his bravery the murky water    the unknown    the unfamiliar    the unexpected was just too much
0
Aug 1, 2022
Aug 1, 2022 at 8:23 AM UTC
paddling with dog
dog-paddling in zero gee my beagle
0
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 9:57 AM UTC
Dog-Paddling
Becoming... hmmm... what am I... becoming... is this the enlightenment of my trip? hmm... journeying through the seasons of inner time and place... therein which lies... a space.... not that sort.... not the sort of the spicky icky spacky... space... it's the... hmmm... sleepy space... I sit and wonder... this place is where I... ponder... fabric... the fabric of this life... I AM FLOATING INTO THIS CHAIR CONCEPT BANDS CONCEPT ALBUMS THAT'S WHAT I WANT TO SEE I AM JUST LIKE TIMOTHY LEARY ... but that... that is only a character.. the outlook I assume in..certain moods... that state of worry... that's what I mean. I am the wind the sea ... speak friend, enter... speak... speak to me. 'I see we meet again... hmmmm...' The music keeps changing my moods, you see... Subconscious... I must be more mindful... 'Increase mindfulness' I must bring the feelings... out don't shove them away... don't shove me away... on this normal squashy day Love your dark shadow love the wolves streams of consciousness I must cut up all of these streams I worry too much about the future... am I crazy? or just afraid of being... telepathy Here's this concept that I have that represents all of these feelings that I have that I tell to you and you receive as whatever feelings you associate with said concept and hope they match up I only write when I have something to preach... a sermon, you see.. yet I write every day... to preach a sermon to me 'Does it make me bad?' this way I am? does it make you.. mad? mushy swampy bog filled mushrooms I sag into the soppy plants in me this world is my swamp and this swamp is me into the swampy swamp I romp All day I ravage roam I stomp jive my vibe... Exotic exodus execution into the deep reeds paddling the little cellophane canoe Must... move... Must... go...
0
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test
Becoming... hmmm... what am I... becoming... is this the enlightenment of my trip? hmm... journeying through the seasons of inner time and place... therein which lies... a space.... not that sort.... not the sort of the spicky icky spacky... space... it's the... hmmm... sleepy space... I sit and wonder... this place is where I... ponder... fabric... the fabric of this life... I AM FLOATING INTO THIS CHAIR CONCEPT BANDS CONCEPT ALBUMS THAT'S WHAT I WANT TO SEE I AM JUST LIKE TIMOTHY LEARY ... but that... that is only a character.. the outlook I assume in..certain moods... that state of worry... that's what I mean. I am the wind the sea ... speak friend, enter... speak... speak to me. 'I see we meet again... hmmmm...' The music keeps changing my moods, you see... Subconscious... I must be more mindful... 'Increase mindfulness' I must bring the feelings... out don't shove them away... don't shove me away... on this normal squashy day Love your dark shadow love the wolves streams of consciousness I must cut up all of these streams I worry too much about the future... am I crazy? or just afraid of being... telepathy Here's this concept that I have that represents all of these feelings that I have that I tell to you and you receive as whatever feelings you associate with said concept and hope they match up I only write when I have something to preach... a sermon, you see.. yet I write every day... to preach a sermon to me 'Does it make me bad?' this way I am? does it make you.. mad? mushy swampy bog filled mushrooms I sag into the soppy plants in me this world is my swamp and this swamp is me into the swampy swamp I romp All day I ravage roam I stomp jive my vibe... Exotic exodus execution into the deep reeds paddling the little cellophane canoe Must... move... Must... go...
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59
When the Costa Concordia met with a reef, it was certain some lives would be lost. As she listed to starboard at eighty degrees, Her Captain was first to get off. Captain Schettino was schmoozing some blonde when his ship began veering to shore. He was unwilling to go down on his ship,- The blonde? yes, but hold the encore. It seems his chief waiter hails from the Isle, the Isle with the ship eating reef. They drew close to shore so he’d wave to his wife an excursion that beggars belief. The Coast guard responders where shocked and amazed; They just couldn’t believe what they saw: The Cruise liner Captain, paddling furiously, beating women and children to shore. Unlike Captain Smith, who stood at his post, hearing “ Nearer my God to thee.” The tune that Schettino will sing his bambinos is “Nearer to Shore take me!” He’ll spend time in jail, but the punishment pales when compared to the scope of his sin This sailor has fallen from grace with the sea in his dreams let their screams never end.
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Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 9:05 PM UTC
Oh Captain, my Captain!
When within my cells there rages war, For a second breath I’d stare at the stars; The old world thickened under my feet, Yet across my sorrows the ends would meet; So to renew these aspirations of ours, Perhaps on a missile on its way to Mars.   ("We are past the third wave,    past the coastline,    past the coral reef.") No I haven’t always been there for you, In these gardens we’ve walked around and through; From green to red, vice-versa and so forth, We’ve gone past Saturn many times before; Now I’m on my way to a distant shore, Paddling the bloodstream of my heart.   ("We reach through the gate,    the threshold of no-return,    far beyond Saturn.") Amidst curiosity and its pulsations, Of skies infinite, a stubborn astronaut; It’s time to decline and lose it all Or time to rise up and answer the call; Fractions of a split-second, a trigger; Wings spread to the dark yonder.   ("The moon now floats behind us,    It cicatrizes our scars as we sail    Far into the night.") The journey into the unknown Always finds a way to take you home.
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Mar 20, 2021
Mar 20, 2021 at 1:03 AM UTC
La Traversée (2018)
A shot fired across the deck a weakened hull. A turning tide. Well, all our anchors hang on chains and dangle off our changing minds. I'm not swimming back to shore,      not this time. Claw at water, grabbing sand. Spent all this time with seaburnt eyelids squinting back at conquered land.      Squinting back at conquered land. I am just a paddling rogue awash in charges, lost at sea. My toothless mouth just won't stop smiling as this makeshift life raft starts to leak. A swimming rat begins to sink Fire a shot across the deck. All this ocean and no drinks. Fire a shot across the deck. Fire a shot across the deck.
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Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
Seaburn
I was daydreaming about the hoverboard that was promised to me in the sequel to Back To The Future when you big-banged my mindset with a universe of thought that I was not ready to comprehend. All you said was, do you think koi fish were typecast? As if some ancient Japanese fisherman noticed that that fish in particular was more reserved than the others. I can picture him paddling quietly across the Caspian Sea as he notices these fish, looks down through his own reflection and says, you seem artfully shy. You remind me that historically and geographically speaking, my story makes no sense. And that the fisherman would not speak English. I remind you that at the rate we're going, we'll probably die before we find out how this life ends. You remind me that we're all fossils in waiting. This was on the back porch of the house you lived at in Santa Barbara. There was a mountain to our right and an ocean to our left. This was in between puffs of your cigarette. I remind you that sometimes you throw yourself out there like propellers so I threw myself down like a launch-pad-made-for-landing- not knowing anything about trajectory- hoping to show you that there are some people out here who know the importance of landing whole. You retreat to your smart phone, search Google, load a satellite image, point to the smallest blue pixel, See that? You say. That's Earth. Everything we will ever know happened on that dot. I thought about Newt's completely feasible moon colony and the first moon-born human. I thought about illegal aliens and inalienable rights. But I didn't say anything. We just sat there in perfect silence like two ukuleles wanting to be acoustic guitars, perfectly tuned, painted in moon reflection, I said, what are we doing? And you didn't have to ask. You knew. When I said we, I meant the species.
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Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 12:55 AM UTC
Newt's Completely Feasible Moon Colony
I was daydreaming about the hoverboard that was promised to me in the sequel to Back To The Future when you big-banged my mindset with a universe of thought that I was not ready to comprehend. All you said was, do you think koi fish were typecast? As if some ancient Japanese fisherman noticed that that fish in particular was more reserved than the others. I can picture him paddling quietly across the Caspian Sea as he notices these fish, looks down through his own reflection and says, you seem artfully shy. You remind me that historically and geographically speaking, my story makes no sense. And that the fisherman would not speak English. I remind you that at the rate we're going, we'll probably die before we find out how this life ends. You remind me that we're all fossils in waiting. This was on the back porch of the house you lived at in Santa Barbara. There was a mountain to our right and an ocean to our left. This was in between puffs of your cigarette. I remind you that sometimes you throw yourself out there like propellers so I threw myself down like a launch-pad-made-for-landing- not knowing anything about trajectory- hoping to show you that there are some people out here who know the importance of landing whole. You retreat to your smart phone, search Google, load a satellite image, point to the smallest blue pixel, See that? You say. That's Earth. Everything we will ever know happened on that dot. I thought about Newt's completely feasible moon colony and the first moon-born human. I thought about illegal aliens and inalienable rights. But I didn't say anything. We just sat there in perfect silence like two ukuleles wanting to be acoustic guitars, perfectly tuned, painted in moon reflection, I said, what are we doing? And you didn't have to ask. You knew. When I said we, I meant the species.
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31
Golden sand tickling your toes Pebbles gleaming, glistening, slushing When the tide comes back to shore. Sand dunes hiding wildlife, Multitudes of migratory birds, Safely returning every year to This beautiful, marshy paradise. Skies so orange, pink and red, An artists palette of natural art Greet you at sunrise and sunset. ***** kippers, cod and plaice Shrimps, cockles and whelks, Mushy, minty peas and chips, The show at the end of the pier. The lifeboats and their hardy crew Risking their lives to save others, When visitors run into trouble At the mercy of the cold North Sea. Crumbling coastlines, cliff walks And nature reserves full of the Scent of wild garlic and herbs, Norfolk lavender. Steam engines, Fishing boats, river boats, Paddling boats and cycles Take you on journeys Around the Broads or Past the famous Castles. Tigers and leopards peer Through the bars of their Zoo homes by the sea. Easterly winds that bite your Fingers as they whistle and Howl through the City. Guest houses closed for The winter as you stroll The lonely promenades Breathing in the air. Queen Bodicea, Normans, Vikings and Romans all Marched through this Historical landscape And yet we remain Stalwart and strong Proud of our heritage, Our roots, our birthplace There's only one place Better than Norfolk, And that's the Beautiful Ozarks.
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Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
NORFOLK
Gave energy and time Rose gladly to inspire. Aiding a brother's climb Exiting worldly mire. Music flowed out in rhyme Entreating to aspire. Building box, bench or plane Impressing with his skills. Riding, paddling, flying Daily seeks nature's thrills.
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Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
Acrostic for my friend Graeme
Blue sky, yellow sun Makes me feel a sense of fun Happy faces, laughter too Accompained by a splendid view Children paddling, deep blue sea Contentment now surrounding me Sea **** drying on the sand Lover's walking hand in hand Dolphin's jumping in the air Playing, basking without a care Picnic's and barbeques on the beach Boat's on the horizon, just out of reach Cliff path, coastal walks, splendid views Old fisher wives gossiping spreading news Fishermen setting sail, off out to sea, Going to catch some fresh fish for our tea Myth's, legends, local history About this place full of mystery Everything fits, just like a glove In Cornwall, the land I love.
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Oct 13, 2010
Oct 13, 2010 at 2:46 AM UTC
Cornwall
i must be some sort of permanently exhausted pigeon; claws clinging to the telephone wire drearily blinking my way through the morning meeting of the aerial acrobatic society. i am a seagull swarmed amongst the chirpy conjecture of these early birds; and my soul caws an honesty, a wail, a howl, the truth. i am a tainted swan grittily paddling myself through the marsh we call this world, a lone observer of the acrobats, the stickiness of my feet keeping me flightless. and you are a swallow; redbull wings migrate you to warmer climates. you hear the seagulls but listen to the pigeons. you notice the swan but her murky shallows are too icy for your liking. and you are a chicken; blind beyond your own free-range vicinity. you catch the pigeons as jet planes, and the seagull's whisper is alien. you don't know miss swan.
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Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 8:02 AM UTC
beaker
A panic attack has a way of creeping up on you At the start of one, you always think to yourself "No this can't be happening" Much like the feeling you get before you Throw Up The heat comes on so strong and forceful Your internal fire, dead set on burning you from the core out You hadn't noticed because your knees just buckled and you went numb The tremors you feel them in your fingers To your shoulders To your tounge Hyperventilating The extra oxygen Feeds the flames Once, With the help from a Brittle Lake I was able to prevent this state Seven bucks to rent a kayak I sliced into the lake I paddled and paddled and paddled My arms were introduced to a new kind of fire A blue cleansing flame Take a break and drift Listen Breath Lament Paddle Feel the warmth of the sun on your face Paddling again, now it's the breeze and spray A smile creeped upon my face At Lake Brittle I was able to keep the panic at bay
0
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
Lake Brittle
there are times a man needs to be alone/ If he is flicking his Bic, Handling his candle lighting his wick. Paddling his tool pulling his tool into alignment. Spanking the monkey stretching his muscle it angers his Mother since he forgot, again, to lock the ******* door.
0
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
a man alone
Willie sat by the side of the river in a philosophical mood under a weeping willow. Midway, between the two banks, was a small island only paddling distance away. Debris from a previous flood had accumulated on the low foliage of an uprooted tree. A funnel of cold air from the ten arch bridge made a wind sock of a plastic net nitrate bag. In all his time, Willie had never ventured on to this little islet, even wondered if he should flag it. Off with the shoes, rolled up the legs of his trousers and slowly he negotiated his way over the stones. On exploring the land mass, which was an isthmus of a mere ten square meters, he decided to return to land. Just before his disembarkation, he noticed a large denominational euro note caught in the gills of a dead fish. Eureka Eureka money and food all in the one catch (was his thought as he made his way back). The sodden state of the 100 euro note was what guided ******* wise decision to take it, as was, to the local Credit Union. In the queue whilst waiting for a vacant teller, everyone was admiring ******* dead fish. Eventually, at the desk, and known to those working therein, a 100 euro note was not his norm and created suspicion. After tendering the note attached to the Trout, that had apparently been fowl hooked up the river by Johnny Logan, The lady behind the desk called for the manager, who immediately held the note up to the halogen fraud lamp. Willie had never encountered anything like this when he made a 5 euro deposit once a month to his savings account. He enquired of the manager as to why he was holding his fish and 100 euro note up against the bright light. The manager responded,  “ It is the policy of all banking systems to check high denominational notes for visible water marks “ !!
0
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 4:01 AM UTC
A Tender Moment.
Willie sat by the side of the river in a philosophical mood under a weeping willow. Midway, between the two banks, was a small island only paddling distance away. Debris from a previous flood had accumulated on the low foliage of an uprooted tree. A funnel of cold air from the ten arch bridge made a wind sock of a plastic net nitrate bag. In all his time, Willie had never ventured on to this little islet, even wondered if he should flag it. Off with the shoes, rolled up the legs of his trousers and slowly he negotiated his way over the stones. On exploring the land mass, which was an isthmus of a mere ten square meters, he decided to return to land. Just before his disembarkation, he noticed a large denominational euro note caught in the gills of a dead fish. Eureka Eureka money and food all in the one catch (was his thought as he made his way back). The sodden state of the 100 euro note was what guided ******* wise decision to take it, as was, to the local Credit Union. In the queue whilst waiting for a vacant teller, everyone was admiring ******* dead fish. Eventually, at the desk, and known to those working therein, a 100 euro note was not his norm and created suspicion. After tendering the note attached to the Trout, that had apparently been fowl hooked up the river by Johnny Logan, The lady behind the desk called for the manager, who immediately held the note up to the halogen fraud lamp. Willie had never encountered anything like this when he made a 5 euro deposit once a month to his savings account. He enquired of the manager as to why he was holding his fish and 100 euro note up against the bright light. The manager responded,  “ It is the policy of all banking systems to check high denominational notes for visible water marks “ !!
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51
There used to be a time when you were paddling down the river You'd hear that banjo song and you'd go all a quiver You know the song I mean it always made me shiver Now, there's something scarier when you're out there on that river (banjo music...deliverance theme) No matter how far south you go there's tv shows galore Cajun this and Cajun that and Cajun even more Louisiana sold out it's a reality tv ***** If you find name one show that's filming you know there's 15 more (banjo music...deliverance theme) Of all the shows out there I don't get Honey Boo Boo I mean, look at how that child looks we're talking nasty ju ju There's a high priestess out there who did some Boo Boo Voo Doo I've never seen another kid who looks like Honey Boo Boo (banjo music....deliverance theme) There's not a place down south not owned by Duck Commander They own the rights on everything, on every salamander If there's a deal on anything, these good old boys will land 'er The Robertson's own everything, those Buck 'n Duck Commanders (banjo music...deliverance theme) Now, as I said that banjo song was scary and it was a real big hit But, now it takes up second place, something else will make you 'git No need to fear the banjo being played by a hermit It's when the State Trooper asks..."Boy, where's your paid up film permit?" ( banjo music...deliverance playout)
0
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
Banjo Music Isn't Scary Anymore
The trip would be flawless - water splashing, echoed shrieks in chlorinated sunlight - except for these baffling creatures patrolling the pool Up and down they go, up and down, staring daggers straight ahead and daring you to get in their way Rubber hats and plastic eyes, folded skin, wrinkled like deflated dinghies doggedly paddling their pointless journeys. A bit like clockwork bath toys, but not as entertaining. The safety notices are wasted on them. No petting? I should ****** well think not. Bombing? Ducking? Anything fun at all? Up, down, up and down. Relentless as the baddies in a ZX Spectrum game, stuck in their lanes, joyless. They were there when I was six and they're still there, you know, a few more wrinkles now, up (and down), spilling out their black slick second skins. Whatever it was they were looking for, the search isn't improving their moods.
0
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 11:40 AM UTC
Amphibians
Went for a cruise on the maiden ship Titanic, A wonderful ship everyone said would be epic I was not scared because it was unsinkable To be in fear would for me be unthinkable Wanted to sail far away to another land Where my life, I think could be quite grand Unpacking my suitcase in a luxurious liner This is the one yacht that could not be finer.   Passengers enjoyed dinner, dancing, and other entertainments. All the days of the trip they would enjoy the embellishments I heard that people like Astor, Guggenheim Straus, Thayer and Gordon Would be on this ship including Stead, Fulrelle, Gibson and Morgan On April 14, 1912 I was that evening returning to my room Walking down the corridor I heard a deafening boom Went to find an RMS crew member When I was told on deck to assemble He handed me a life jacket just in case And to get in the lifeboat because there was space Passengers were lowered down by the crew The first little boat had just a few A man started quickly paddling our tiny boat Once far away he stopped and we would just float Everyone watched as we heard screaming, crying and yelling Amongst the chaos we heard music and saw the flares flying   In the early hours of April 15, the ship’s lights flickered out and then went straight up vertical We all heard the moans of the iron and watched it break in half and it sank uncontrollable From quite a distance I saw an ocean of people Out in the middle of the sea, no one felt hopeful Soon there was no sound As we all looked around Shivering crying and wondering If we are going to live or die pondering published in the Crawfordsville, Indiana newspaper Copyright 2013 All Rights Reserved
0
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 3:55 PM UTC
Titanic Unsinkable Unthinkable
Went for a cruise on the maiden ship Titanic, A wonderful ship everyone said would be epic I was not scared because it was unsinkable To be in fear would for me be unthinkable Wanted to sail far away to another land Where my life, I think could be quite grand Unpacking my suitcase in a luxurious liner This is the one yacht that could not be finer.   Passengers enjoyed dinner, dancing, and other entertainments. All the days of the trip they would enjoy the embellishments I heard that people like Astor, Guggenheim Straus, Thayer and Gordon Would be on this ship including Stead, Fulrelle, Gibson and Morgan On April 14, 1912 I was that evening returning to my room Walking down the corridor I heard a deafening boom Went to find an RMS crew member When I was told on deck to assemble He handed me a life jacket just in case And to get in the lifeboat because there was space Passengers were lowered down by the crew The first little boat had just a few A man started quickly paddling our tiny boat Once far away he stopped and we would just float Everyone watched as we heard screaming, crying and yelling Amongst the chaos we heard music and saw the flares flying   In the early hours of April 15, the ship’s lights flickered out and then went straight up vertical We all heard the moans of the iron and watched it break in half and it sank uncontrollable From quite a distance I saw an ocean of people Out in the middle of the sea, no one felt hopeful Soon there was no sound As we all looked around Shivering crying and wondering If we are going to live or die pondering published in the Crawfordsville, Indiana newspaper Copyright 2013 All Rights Reserved
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35
Just when I thought I've written you out completely, scratched your memory off the edges of my bones, wrung the imprint of your lips from mine, wretched out every word you ever poured into me, tore your image from the hippocampus of my brain, Just when I thought I had said all there is to say about you, about us, about this, Just when I think I have finally left it all behind, You come back to me. In my dreams in my late nights in the bottle of wine I force myself to finish in the pack of cigarettes I don't even like smoking in my wandering mind in the short seconds between each day in all of my writing, Your name is always the first thing to be marked down. Lover, I can't forget I am still spilling your tongue from my mouth You seep through my pores on hot days, the freckles on my face remind me of how you once found constellations in them, you built galaxies in my eyelids, lover, the cleansing is only just beginning. I am too full on our history There is no empty when it comes to us I will be forever ridding myself of your contents I thought the tidal wave of still missing had passed but here I am drowning again. Doggy paddling to stay afloat, I have never been very good at swimming. I am still hanging on to the deflated life raft that is your hand, you let go of mine a long time ago, it's about time I do the same.
0
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 4:40 PM UTC
The Cleansing