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Danela  Sep 2017
Houseboat
Danela Sep 2017
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
Vick Mandrake Feb 2018
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
Marshal Gebbie Aug 2013
Back to my land of verdant green
To feel the bite of winter chill
To know that while all this is so
That far off land enthralls me still.

That far off land of granite peaks
Of crystalline white massif high,
Of conifer which scale the *****
Of rocky outcrop to the sky.
The baking heat of desert mesa
Spread as far as eye can see
Sage bush in its fragrant aura
Tumble **** soon rolling free.
Squirrel dart on shale cascade
Of green grey slate on alpine flank
Bright blue birds in curious hover
...For this, my reeling senses thank.

Fishing boats in bright array
Adorn the West coast sheltered lee,
Crab and mackerel brim the bin
Of bearded fishermen with glee.
Pounding surf of North Pacific
Carves the rock of bastioned coast
Embryonic currents cold
Do modify the climate most.
Redwoods huge clad coastal ranges,
Bright geraniums do sing
From earthen pots outside the cafe
Hot coffee fragrant from within.

Hilarity as laughing people gather
Watch as yelling Serbs do sling
Huge silver fish across the stall
Amid Seattle's Pike's Place din.
Colour paints this market place
Flowers stacked in every hue
Noisy vendors bawl their product
Creamy ice cream cone for you.

Streaming dust in streaming hair
Scree slopes avalanche past for thrill
Mountain crevasse yawns aloof
As ATV's roar up the hill.
Wild terrain of wilderness
On mountaintop of forest fir,
Cougar, grizzly bear and wolf
In pack are found herein astir.
Atop the very precipice
We view the everlasting peaks
Magnificent in summer sun
Embalmed in snow when Winter speaks.

Freeways snake from coast to mountain
Clover leaf in junctions pile,
Forty ton trucks pull big trailers
Endless day for endless mile.
Barrel straight these concrete tarmacs
Stretching far as eye can see,
Headlong surge huge pickup trucks
But cautious eye for Sheriff be.
Roadside diners loud and raucous
Selling burgers, selling beer
Neon flashing through the night
Old ***** waitress' toothless cheer.

The years have clad our friendships well
Familiarity's warming hand
Allows resumption of our words
Despite the 40 year gap spanned.
Houseboat floats in crowded wharfage
Swimming through a clear cool lake,
Californian wine with friends
Hot chilli food and fresh bread bake.
Eye fillets grill on barbecue
See the distant mountain peaks
Summer snow endures aloft
Glows indigo as sunset speaks.

Endless skies of cobalt blue
Cloudless in the summer sun
Gracious denizens do offer
Generosity unsung.
Graciousness across the land
Across these people so diverse,
The wondrous gift of ready smile
Friendly hand and open purse.

History tells these people spoke
Electing leaders for their time
When sanity's quiet need arose
It was promulgated on the line.
With Washington and Lincoln
Through FDR to JFK,
The Presidents who bed-rocked
This Foundation for the nation's day.
Astounding, that exceptional men
Have carved this face from stone,
Have caste the global presence
That Americans call home.

I understand the feeling now,
Of pride and patriotic stance.
I understand the inner strength
Of America's great, true romance.

This poem bequeathed to our good friends who inhabit this land... Big Rich, Suzie and Mike, Our mate Stevo and Ian, Heidi, Wyatt and Cooper, Dear old Greg and his elegant lady, Holly.
But most of all, with gratitude and love, to our marvelous son Boaz and his lovely lady, Angela.

Marshalg & Janet
At "Foxglove", Taranaki... In the Southern hemisphere's mid winter.
2 August 2013
MoVitaLuna Apr 2013
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.
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.
In homage to the Peggotty family
Carlo C Gomez Mar 2020
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
jimmy tee Dec 2013
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
Nisa West  Oct 2011
XXII.
Nisa West Oct 2011
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."
© Nisa West
David Ehrgott Jan 2015
Mary had a houseboat.
She bought it with the money she
made selling lamb chops.
spysgrandson  May 2017
on water
spysgrandson May 2017
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
Neville Johnson Mar 2020
The bride was a widow, the bridegroom a widower and that’s where the story begins
She never thought she’d find another and certainly not him
He, for his part, was down on his way to out in a kind of middle aged funk
But there they were in Sausalito
It’s houseboats, who woulda thunk?
Corrine is a writer of mysteries, fond of wearing chic hats
She types away all day and looks at the Bay
With coffee and two Siamese cats
Downright laconic on the SS Ironic
Which needs some marine repairs
She called for help to get rid of the kelp
And voila, Big Bill appears
Brash and tough was he she thought
But with charms that did disarm
The fiction writer is
In need of a brighter reality, a depth charge
So they collided avec wine as the high tides washed upon their feet
Now undivided, the Lord has provided a place and a time, a destiny
For two who lost love but found it again
On the water
It’s no mystery
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.

— The End —