Run With Me
Hike, stroll, walk and run with me.
O'er sea, and land and air lanes,
That south-bound train is to blame
The whistle called; "run with me."
There's South Sea lore awaiting
And fish that try abaiting
If you like, there's desert strand
With bargains of spires and sand.
Those "S.P. Lines never rest,
Moans of freight on desert crest,
Echo mid sage and cacti bloom
Come see and hear: "run with me."
Nor miss forest, hills and streams,
There's mountains and trails to deem,
In DC-Three's: on a beam,
Find air lanes: North and Southwest.
Aye! Com' on and "run with me."
Hold these rhymes and lines to see,
Be transported far from me,
To transient scenes without fee. |
Frigate Birds
Nineteen and fifty; Shipped out.
From 'Frisco' on tidal mounts
'Gate bridge, sinking from view,
Changed all sea and sky anew.
So this the way of the sea.
Down over water and globe.
Seabirds, how can you be?
Trailing for days, no abode.
Night-watch, I found your abode;
Roosting on rail for your rest.
"Freeloader! Sea Tramp!" my mode.
A tossing ship is no nest.
By day, winged celebrant sure.
Curved pinions can be a lure,
To fly along for some miles,
But I've got duty awhile.
Off duty, I'll watch your flight,
Flirting, aware of our course,
Guiding eye, pinion your force,
Will tire you by nautical night.
Wonders, for this youth at sea.
Rest, seabirds, with tired wings fold,
Though Pliede's paths are old,
We'll match compass, chart and sea.
Southern climes and "Southern Cross,"
Brings flying-fish and porpoise toss
Flirt again 'neath bow and stern
A porpoise welcome we earn.
Ah well, return? No! Again?
Seabirds: let's ship to the main.
Now that I've learned all your names:
Gull, Tern and Albatross plain.
"They that down to the sea that go..."
Penned a Psalmist, long ago,
"Wonders" for this youth at sea.
"Of the deep" and seabirds pleas. |
Of Balm, Lore, And Palm
Swimming off Hawaiian shores,
"Man-of-War" did sting me sore,
Maiden from the jungle palm
Stole to me with healing balm.
Hands strummed on my rashes sore.
Sand, salt, sea and oil she bore,
Taught along her native shores;
Shy, and vanished in jungle more.
I, alone with healing pores,
Specter-kind with feeling lore,
Maiden printed tracks to shore,
I'll bide these and ponder lore.
Tides will wash her prints to palms,
I'll have memory for balm,
Of a day along the shores,
A maiden with healing balm. |
South Sea Spoof
"BERT" came up. Helped the roof
Leaks enough to water plants.
need-of-a-roof is bare proof;
Mid shingles and sun, we'll roof.
Through this, why should I see thatch?
Something is wrong for this match,
With "Mansville," staples for catch,
My "Grass Shack" is from this batch.
Trade some wind and gossamer sail.
Transfer this "shack" to palm trails;
Hibiscus and Orchids for ails.
With all my senses for bails.
Canoes, exploring, found isles,
Mid-acific: heritage miles,
Tall cities from village and town.
My thatched shack is hid in renown.
Tell, Polynesian, to me,
Of heritage far away
Of lore and sea creatures ways,
I'll muse again anyway.
First morning I'll comb my strand.
Driftwood search my demand.
Coral! Shells! My sea-washed band.
Their wave-roll up splashed the land.
By noon the fish will be down.
Challenge to eve's tidal bounds,
Can net me a catch for pounds;
A sea-meal with lemon counts.
Sky, shore with palm trees too much.
My prone pencil has a bunch.
So it's line-smithing till lunch.
Then a nap; reading and such.
Say, "Bert", half finished the roof.
I'm with a load for this spoof.
Out did the bidder, no goof.
I mused my "grass shack in proof. |
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