Boathouse

Long ago of on the salt sea

A boathouse was refuge land
And land was now long down under
So many were sailing; and yet
Some were swimming; for quite some time
Their tears coming into cohesion
With a sea all surrounding
It was said they tried their best
But sad they were
So down they went
Drowning and frowning

On this day, the boathouse empty
Canoes used to be there, floating by string
Many distance swimmer made it past
A cold sea body
To relax, as if their own
They called this here boathouse home
Times end, many dived back deep
Into an aqua earth sea and its long sleep
Ocean sea, then took its salt
From the earth's many years
Ocean sea stole human tears

Eleven

The cute redhead of no more than 24 years of age walked up to the man in the vest and whispered something delicately into his ear. The grace in which she moved matched the sexy, mysterious professionalism in which she so provocatively yet so conservatively dressed. The clerk shyed away and to the adjacent voyeurs watching so intently it was obvious she was out of his league, and he knew he wasn't a slugger. The voyeurs knew as well, and in that instant of time, each knew the other knew just as well. What he knew that no one else knew, was what this ball of fire was passionately whispering in his ear. After the first-tense minute, he the clerk seemed to ease up as her quiet musings poured out...and became less robotic in his body language. She sat down and he took off her shoes and measured them with one of those metal things. He thought her feet were akin to cotton candy symphony spun by Nordic elves. He looked up at her, and she asked with a half-smile,
"What size do you wear?" as if mischievously trying to gather dandelions.
"Eleven...why?"
She smiled slyly as she brought her hand to her lip, "I don't know...just curious."
"Oh," he added, "It hangs to the left."

Distal

Thank-you for dining locally
Albeit by yourself, you're not lonely?
On your fine knitted sleeve
Is a safe logical reprieve

Outside it's raining and you're waiting for your ride

The water washes, but doesn't affect your resistance to abide

The umbrella you hold high trying to stay dry
'Cause something up there really knows you in the sky

You arrive home and put on the stove
Pour a glass of wine fresh from the grove
And home an hour, you have yet to change
As you like it, they're out of range

Tomorrow, things much the same
Really, you've no one else to blame
The opposite of the ocean
A lack of common commotion

Mr. Balmer

When this person is born

What will I be doing?

Where will I happen to be?

Hopefully, he is praised and state licensed

And no, I could never know

And so, I will go on with the day

To live a glorious life

Full of sunshine, empty of strife?

Right next to a trophy wife?

And obedient children that pray

From me to the little ones...

It's circus circularity

As the little hand follows the big,

As with the clocks upon our walls

And its long arms pointed

Coming 'round

Cummin' around

With that, it then strikes down

If lucky, I'll have some calm...

As then, that person will so embalm

(We had met before, but only he knows that)

North Cinquain

Snow days
Things are buried
And you are way out there
And there is so much more between
Snow daze