travel

Skipper’s Lane

Around the bend from the church on main,
lies a quaint little street, called Skipper’s Lane.
T’was on this path a young lad dwelled,
before the streets’ name or the lad propelled.
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The tale goes: At the head of a cove the sandbar’s long.
The water’s choppy and the currents strong.
A young lad fished, he netted all day.
At sunset he rowed to the town up the bay.
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He traded his catch for supplies and some cash.
He then rowed back home and buried his stash.
Years soon passed and the lad’s now a man.
The time was now to dig up an old can.
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The cans held his savings, he’s more than a few.
The man, now called Netty, had something to do.
Netty rowed into town, to buy but not sell.
He bought a new boat with a bright shiny bell.
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He towed the boat home not knowing how to sail.
A year’s practice behind then caught in a gale.
Netty stayed calm, his life, spent afloat.
Home was in sight when he saw a tossed boat.
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The boat missed the inlet, now blowing out to sea.
Though Netty unsure, he could not leave them be.
Adjusting his sails Netty raced to give aid.
Soaked and battered he would not be afraid.
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Lost memories filled young Netty’s head.
Recalling the night, he was almost dead.
The sky was black and the water cold.
The ship sat heavy, filled with gold.
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Remembering screams and cracking wood,
the ship’s bell rang, gone childhood.
The boy hit the water and woke on the shore.
The life he once knew was no more.
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A crashing wave broke Netty’s trance,
one second more he’d lose his chance.
He leaned on his tiller to bring his boat near.
The boats colliding mustered everyone’s fear.
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Netty thought quickly and dropped his sheet,
then heaved his net around a cleat.
He pulled and pulled with all his might.
His biggest catch was that stormy night.
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All returned safely before the sun rose.
Netty now a hero was gifted new clothes.
New friends were made, now one’s Netty’s wife.
Recounting his memories he bought a new life.
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The gold recovered, Netty bought lots of land.
He built a grand home well away from the sand.
The harbor in view he watches over his fleet.
The town, now prosperous, gave Netty a street.

~*~
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Sedentary Travels

My day begins before the sun’s rise.
My cat meows and I open my eyes,
I stumble downstairs and she gets fed.
If the weather’s bad we go back to bed.
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If the weather’s good we’ll stay awake.
I’ll boil some water and coffee I’ll make.
Then off to the porch, facing due east.
The sky lights up and eyes will feast.
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The dark now shed the future’s begun.
We’ve choices to make; good, bad or fun.
I choose fun because that’s always good.
The bad’s unchosen that’s understood.
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An hour passes and sometimes two.
Where the time goes I have no clue.
Often I write or just sit and ponder.
I think of life and what I squander.
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The sun gets high, the workday’s soon.
There’ll be hustle and bustle till late afternoon.
The clock ticks slower thinking of home.
Then back to the porch where minds can roam.

~*~
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