Fine and Fierce and
Free:
Canoe Poems for Spring
By
Lenny Everson
Illustrations by Lois
Foell and Lenny Everson
rev
1
Copyright Lenny Everson 2011
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Published at Smashwords:
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****
(18 Poems)
***
Sonnet for March
Warm March air begins to melt the
snow
The soggy ground creeps cold inside my shoe
The wind, like
some vast river, starts to flow
And restless I go out to my canoe.
I kick a tiny glacier off the
stern
Chase a pair of rabbits from their nest
I touch a last
year’s scratch (to show concern)
But in my mind we ride some
river’s crest.
The grey March sky begins to boil
and churn
Water starts to slide from under snow
We both have
winter’s lessons to unlearn
And both of us have places yet to
go.
I touch the cold canoe, and somehow
I
Am crossing lakes, beneath a summer sky
****
Tied
Today I wore my tie
The brown
one
Today the terminals hummed
Today people discussed
The
way thing are
At ten I looked out the
window
Ignored the shining sky
Took no note of the clouds
Nor
the way the puddles reflected
Cared not a whit for the freedom
Of
winds and waters
And never, never, in my deepest daydreams
Was
I canoeing the April shoreline while
The ice broke free and the trees
proudly shook
Their buds at me
****
Canoe-Scrubbing in the Rain
For all the Aprils that ever were
I
wrote this poem
For all the men who ever scrubbed canoes
In the
rain, in April
I write this poem
No decorum is necessary;
I have
chameleoned
All the white, cold winter
Fooling only those
Who
don’t know me
In the soggy, soggy backyard
In
the afternoon rain
I pivot the canoe
Over April
And now it’s
downstream
All the way to autumn
****
I Prowl the March Winds
Call it an ordinary day
I
disagree
Call it an ordinary wind
Discount what it is to be
free
There’s a hymn within the March
wind
Opaque to the long drift of time
There’s a resurrection
to the rivers
Water, from late winter grime
It’s much too damn cold to
canoe
Ice lasts longer than snow
But all I want, as I prowl the
wind
Is to get out the paddles and go
****
Bubbles in the Flotsam of Time
Ah, love, we are bubbles
In the
flotsam of time
Part of some river
Part of this rhyme
All promises now void
All
projects on hold
So many rivers
Before we grow old
The March wind is singing
Some
wild hero’s song
The canoe is ready
The evenings grow long
Ah, love, we’re a couplet
In
the epic of time
Let us follow our rivers
To the end of our
rhyme
All dreams and all rivers
To the
end of our rhyme
****
Too Slow the Spring
Locks and keys, rain, snow,
trees
The sluggish dragon of March slops in
Snow and rain,
spring, winter again
The beginning won't end and the end won't
begin
March is walls; the winter falls
The
sun crowbars it up again
Tuesday's new, from off canoe
The
snow melts and crawls away
Friday's old, snow and cold
Locks and keys, keys and locks
My
mind flies. March walks.
****
Strange Beast of Burden
A half-mile of portage trail
And
right in the middle, where
Juniper crowded flat rock
The duck took off
I damn near dropped the canoe
Six eggs in a juniper bush.
Those
ducklings will need hiking boots.
Many and strange are the ways of
nature
This man huffs the canoe forward
And
trudges off
Through the trees
A man with a canoe on his
head
Trudges off
Through the trees.
****
Song of an Available Man
I suppose I’ve been sitting in the
office chair
Making paddling motions
For about two weeks, now
I suppose I’ve been staring at the
map on the wall
By the desk
Doing the company out of time and
time
I think management should chuck
A
few of us into the wild
Each May, for a week or two
Just to
find out if it improves our work
And appreciation of company
benefits
I’m available
Canoe, paddle,
dreams and all
I’m available
****
The March Wind in the Willows
In the transfer of seasons
In the
deep shift of time
Are all the good-byes of a lifetime
Are all
the mornings of years
In the long pull of midnight
In
the slow swing of stars
Is the March wind in the willows
Is the
last snow on the lake
In the glass vaults of
possibility
In the fragile winds of memory
My brain links canoe
to lake and river
In the rhythm of animate breathing
I stand,
transfixed, in the rain
Don’t blame me for seeing
Farther
than I’ve ever seen
March is the precipice of a small
eternity
March is the edge of a dream
****
The Springtime is Singing My Name
The cookstove is polished to a
fairly nice gleam
My paddles are varnished and bright
The
packsack is airing out on the line
The thermometer’s rising
tonight
Somewhere the ice pulls away from
the shore
Somewhere the rivers break free
Somewhere April is
calling the name
Of someone real close to me
It’s not that the house isn’t
friendly and warm
It’s not that the water’s not cold
But
how often do winds come singing one’s name
How often does
springtime unfold?
The maps are tucked in a big plastic
pouch
The canoe’s on top of the car
Measure tomorrow by the
length of my stroke
And my life from the first morning star.
****
Down the Creek in a Red Canoe
All the hills of April stream
With
warming water from winter’s dream
All the hills and gullies
run
Away from here, one by one
My life seems full of clock and
plan
That rule the time and lose the man
But now my heart has
caught the breeze
In April skies, in April trees
Down the creek in a red
canoe
Scraping over a fence or two
Paddle parrying floating
ice
Ignoring timid friends’ advice
The skies may fill with April
rain
But I return to life again
Happy now, for it seems
I’ve
not forgotten all my dreams
****
The Weathered Rocks of Paradise
I stopped paddling, drifted
To
the shore
Overhead, the branches
Were bragging with leaves
The
ducks circled cautiously
The canoe kissed rock
I had no words
at all
I met a man who said
He's never
done that
I found it
Hard to believe.
Does he spend
each May
In captivity?
How does he ease his mind
Gently
to the shores
Of Eden
And scrape the weathered rocks
Of
paradise?
****
Fierce and fine and free
There are those who are most
alive
Around some river bend
In spring the young ones call my
name
But I am gone again
Ghosts and dreams and desperate
schemes
Considered – and forgot
Cornered in the alley,
yes
But never, ever caught
I’ve done my time at my
desk
Pretending to be me
I am in truth on river bends
Fierce
and fine and free
A flash of paddle on the lake
A
dancer on the creeks
In May the old men call my name
But only
distance speaks
****
The Suddening of Liferoots
The aching April hills
The
glowing amber sky
The birds repeating history
My canoe and I
The trees forgive the winter
The
lands return to mud
The first day the ice goes out
Brings a
quickening in my blood
For all of winter's longings
Are
found in April streams
Canoe and I and water
Are the basic
stuff of dreams
The aching April hills
The
coiling April streams
The agony of springtime
The wrinkling of
my dreams
My canoe believes in summer
But I
believe in clocks
The suddening of liferoots
The opening of
locks
****
I Almost Heard an Answer
Six lakes over
Seven trails
along
Soft in the April moonlight
Came an answer to my song
In the firelight I paused
To
listen for the sound
The canoe was beached beside me
There was
frost upon the ground
I sang again my favorite song
A
question at the sky
I had maps to tell me where I was
But none
to tell me why
Six lakes over
In the thin golden
light
I almost heard an answer
In April, in the night
****
Chasing Dreams in May
We have chased ourselves
along
Waters and Fridays
Pursuing dreams where
There were
dreams, and the wind
Where there were not
We are not new, but we have grown
smiles
Like the trees do leaves.
And we canoe blue lakes and
find green fish
Till evening scares us home.
What is us, we owe ourselves;
The
rest will chase lakes and rivers
And Fridays and winds, and, in
late May,
Cagey green pike
****
Tasting the Winds
I have not come canoeing
Respecting
the rain
But cresting my life,
I am turning again
Changing the reasons
Changing my
mind
Facing the future
More trusting and blind
The day too wet
For sensible
men
But my longing too great
To postpone again
I have not come canoeing
Needing
the past
Just knowing the rain
Will probably last
But feeling the corners
Tasting
the winds
Touching the rain
Where tomorrow begins
****
Canoe and I
Canoe and I
And river bend
God
powers a world
With no known end
He finds the river
Sees us,
smiles
As we happen on
His chosen miles
*** END ***
May your canoe be full
of love.
May your spring be wild with promise,
Fine
Fierce,
and
Free.
Happy canoeing!
Lenny
lennypoet@hotmail.ca