Long Gunnels Poems

Deep ocean of azure blue

Overhead seagulls circling flew

In constant motion, heaving sides

The old merchant ship upon it rides

Rust scorched it's barnacled coat

Salt encrusted railings forever afloat

On the horizon's sinking sun's amber glow

Beckons enticingly along the...

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'Camp Chippewa, ' its tennis and rifle range, X-Class sailing, 
And classic 'Old Town' canvas covered wooden canoes, 
Not the low-class aluminum canoes of a 'Camp Thunderbird.'
Cass Lake - garden of the Mississippi's hidden currents,...

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Many now, the years have passed,
Since I found my heart at sea,
And never have I shared the tale
That I now will grant to Thee ...

We'd been a-sail for fifty weeks -
Chasing blues and fins and...

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Grace Darling

Tempest spits upon the gunnels
But Grace Darling manhandles the paddles,
To rescue the folks of the Forfarshire crash,
Stranded on Farne Islands off Northumberland coast.

The spirit of innocence to give more than ought,
Took on the challenge...

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Oh the air is not so sweet today, 
Nor, I fear, will it be tomorrow, 
For disgruntled love has left the fray
Of tortured wills that brought both sorrow.

Are yesterdays now just memories, 	
(Though some still...

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No hero me only in my dreams
A pleasant night out
Coast walk with my lady
People mesmerised and all just looking
Watching a boat drifting onto the rocks
Somebody must be doing something
Boat striking hitting the rocks
Nobody doing anything
Spineless...

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Kelso has a boat
smeared to the gunnels,
with cawk and greasy weeds.
Kelso is old enough
to be free of care,

his dog don't care neither.

At the prow of dawn
he hauls dripping lobsters
in their pots
up the scummy steps
of the...

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Somewhere between an in and out wave,
my boat broke; it's an essential
scaled down vessel of my body -
I become somewhat alarmed.

Water being almost always in a fluid state
did the unexpected and played dead.
It attained a...

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Fog slow-dances over the inlet
until water and air waltz together.
Too early to tell
if any birds are awake
besides, my ears are muffled in the wet air.
Grebes and Coots colonize this tributary,
gulls just visit.
I could row out...

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Laid back over oarlocks,
arms akimbo, hat slouched;
slow riding the Loire.

The river pushes
into a bobbing place
a sylvian picnic
where female bottoms convene
in soft repose.

Iridescent thuds, a thrashing of fins.
A large trout flops in the gunnels.
Wide lips, mouthing...

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Any one for the 8-10 to Allepo 

His suicide lorry packed to the gunnels there hoisted on his own petard
another loved up modern muslim the stupid silly selfish silly bastard

What a waste one man in...

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Kelso has a boat
smeared to the gunnels,
with cawk and greasy weeds.

At a prow of dawn
he hauls dripping lobster,
and their pots
up the scummy steps
of the silty stone harbor,
pushing a barrow
into the towns brick narrows.

Kelso barters claws...

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