l.
this one
an old one too
too worn through
to float
that you have
for sale
done!
some bright paint
new lines
around her shoulders
fix broken
deep in her bowels
below shadows
from a bent mast blue
but I feel
in her blood
a definite need
for love
her plea
to go back voyaging-
and I
am
mesmerized
before she sinks
save
with new bilge pump
and chartreuse
floats
like a brand new
sailor
I want
to go fishing
now
and so
we go
voyaging
our breath holding
love
a beginning
afraid
to doubt
ll.
day's end
boat breathes
up and down
under sun
old hull
a woodshed
of light
and gold warmth-
sea longing
cirrus
of white clouds
arriving
fog feathered birds
coming home
no longer
a small light
on the sea
fishing the pacific
rust now
carried away
by dreams departing
leaving
a green mossed hull
decaying walls dying
in their own
karma
the once proud bobs
ceaselessly
in wind currents-
rushes
from other boat
wakes
now
sun embraced
lonely in its warmth
her dreams produce
mood
walking the pier
cat
like
rain rides tides
at a slant-
soft mist singing
with bells-
buoy sounds
knowing that every day
is more
nothing more
than wait-
it sinks
among dispersals memory
reminding of
a small light
on the sea
lll.
it will not ease
this pain
of separation
(watching
teacup light
over city scape)
heart
grey as doves
under sea spawned clouds
my boat
logging a distance
that can not
set us free
her home
on Vashon Island
mine the sea
lV.
decks in the shell
of a green boat float
underfoot
where the curved keel
keens the waves
of harbor water
wind song in the drift-
flutes
piccolos
stray variations
of violins
on windy rails
hunched backed gulls anticipate
the western shore
a score
of kindred chords snapping
rounds their beaks
Tahoma (White Mountain)
rising like a symphony
on silver waves
as Juan de Fuca's waters cadence
with salty breath
of sea
commuters lean on broken thoughts
the distance back a track
of foaming wakes-
the days work
trailing behind
in the crisp cold light
of winter
V.
boat now
resting
in late evening sunlight
shadowed about
on the jetty shade
where the bow line
ties the craft
to a gray quay
gulls
neck pointing
in the dusky light
watch waves bob the hull
with floats on stern line-
fishes
swimming about
in the after shine
my reflection
scatters the birds to flight
the tired boat
almost alone
except for my own
luminous eyes
the last of the sun
going down
over the fishnet breeze-
the day's catch
over the gray quay
to home
Vl.
you
my indoctrinated mind
you were
my growing up in gray
and sometimes
a soft light
voyaging
the vessels
of my heart
do you know
how monotonous I was
writing my learned doggerel
with sometimes dreams
coming and going
with the same nouns
and the same verbs
and sometimes
an again
of dull color over
my very thoughts
it was the same flow and sound
among the days and years
navigating
all the poet's sameness
on the streets
of my heart
it was new words
I am told
resurrected
my self stone-
for in my darkened house then
organic words
were silent
I needed boats to sail on
provide oceans
for tongue and mind
with new meanings
I needed words
that would avant
and reinvent
the old ones
Vll.
boat rests on dusk
from days
of sea wonder
moonrise sparkles stars
over coves-
tugs of night
towing them far
lamp light launching
into calm sea water
reflections bobbing
in the bronze belled
breeze
the cove
hushed by hours
rests
on blue shadows
of midnight
empty
of all sails
Vlll.
mood
shadow like surrounds
sleeping gulls
tethered boats
breeze
brushes fronds
where herons fish
the periwinkle ponds
lX.
boat
flutter of
pendentives
tones
of blown
cordage
shadows
of motion
from the wind
among clouds
sun
a break of blue
seagull aslant
nakedness
of growing old
of time and place-
sea moss
rust
wounds
the foul
Nyoda 1939
starlit moons
grasses
and night hum
tender murmur
of days
where tides continued
like oceans
sun weight
stockpiled
on years
dreams
now gone
great blows
devastation
wood splinter
boat
hallow of voices
footsteps
the nets of noon
and bent seas
old hull preserved
as silence
where moon rises
over the dunes
all its seas
obedient
now
X.
old boats
cantankerous
at noon
ready to please
at sundown
moody
in moonlight
their souls
reflected
in the mystery
of sway
wood hulls
primal
in breath holding
shadows
on the peaceful
quay
this one
an old one too
too worn through
to float
that you have
for sale
done!
some bright paint
new lines
around her shoulders
fix broken
deep in her bowels
below shadows
from a bent mast blue
but I feel
in her blood
a definite need
for love
her plea
to go back voyaging-
and I
am
mesmerized
before she sinks
save
with new bilge pump
and chartreuse
floats
like a brand new
sailor
I want
to go fishing
now
and so
we go
voyaging
our breath holding
love
a beginning
afraid
to doubt
ll.
day's end
boat breathes
up and down
under sun
old hull
a woodshed
of light
and gold warmth-
sea longing
cirrus
of white clouds
arriving
fog feathered birds
coming home
no longer
a small light
on the sea
fishing the pacific
rust now
carried away
by dreams departing
leaving
a green mossed hull
decaying walls dying
in their own
karma
the once proud bobs
ceaselessly
in wind currents-
rushes
from other boat
wakes
now
sun embraced
lonely in its warmth
her dreams produce
mood
walking the pier
cat
like
rain rides tides
at a slant-
soft mist singing
with bells-
buoy sounds
knowing that every day
is more
nothing more
than wait-
it sinks
among dispersals memory
reminding of
a small light
on the sea
lll.
it will not ease
this pain
of separation
(watching
teacup light
over city scape)
heart
grey as doves
under sea spawned clouds
my boat
logging a distance
that can not
set us free
her home
on Vashon Island
mine the sea
lV.
decks in the shell
of a green boat float
underfoot
where the curved keel
keens the waves
of harbor water
wind song in the drift-
flutes
piccolos
stray variations
of violins
on windy rails
hunched backed gulls anticipate
the western shore
a score
of kindred chords snapping
rounds their beaks
Tahoma (White Mountain)
rising like a symphony
on silver waves
as Juan de Fuca's waters cadence
with salty breath
of sea
commuters lean on broken thoughts
the distance back a track
of foaming wakes-
the days work
trailing behind
in the crisp cold light
of winter
V.
boat now
resting
in late evening sunlight
shadowed about
on the jetty shade
where the bow line
ties the craft
to a gray quay
gulls
neck pointing
in the dusky light
watch waves bob the hull
with floats on stern line-
fishes
swimming about
in the after shine
my reflection
scatters the birds to flight
the tired boat
almost alone
except for my own
luminous eyes
the last of the sun
going down
over the fishnet breeze-
the day's catch
over the gray quay
to home
Vl.
you
my indoctrinated mind
you were
my growing up in gray
and sometimes
a soft light
voyaging
the vessels
of my heart
do you know
how monotonous I was
writing my learned doggerel
with sometimes dreams
coming and going
with the same nouns
and the same verbs
and sometimes
an again
of dull color over
my very thoughts
it was the same flow and sound
among the days and years
navigating
all the poet's sameness
on the streets
of my heart
it was new words
I am told
resurrected
my self stone-
for in my darkened house then
organic words
were silent
I needed boats to sail on
provide oceans
for tongue and mind
with new meanings
I needed words
that would avant
and reinvent
the old ones
Vll.
boat rests on dusk
from days
of sea wonder
moonrise sparkles stars
over coves-
tugs of night
towing them far
lamp light launching
into calm sea water
reflections bobbing
in the bronze belled
breeze
the cove
hushed by hours
rests
on blue shadows
of midnight
empty
of all sails
Vlll.
mood
shadow like surrounds
sleeping gulls
tethered boats
breeze
brushes fronds
where herons fish
the periwinkle ponds
lX.
boat
flutter of
pendentives
tones
of blown
cordage
shadows
of motion
from the wind
among clouds
sun
a break of blue
seagull aslant
nakedness
of growing old
of time and place-
sea moss
rust
wounds
the foul
Nyoda 1939
starlit moons
grasses
and night hum
tender murmur
of days
where tides continued
like oceans
sun weight
stockpiled
on years
dreams
now gone
great blows
devastation
wood splinter
boat
hallow of voices
footsteps
the nets of noon
and bent seas
old hull preserved
as silence
where moon rises
over the dunes
all its seas
obedient
now
X.
old boats
cantankerous
at noon
ready to please
at sundown
moody
in moonlight
their souls
reflected
in the mystery
of sway
wood hulls
primal
in breath holding
shadows
on the peaceful
quay
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