Thirty

Thirty days hath September,
April, June and November.

Thirty days hath NaPoWriMo.

Thirty poems is a lot.
Thirty good poems may be a bit much to ask.

I may have to go edit a few,
To make them more coherent.
Some, to make them coherent at all.

Thirty has one more meaning.
For the press (old school),
You will see -30- in articles.
It means “The End.”

-30-

(see you next year, or when the fever strikes.)

Every Day

I will write a poem every day.
Unless I have nothing to say.
Then, I have to write free verse.
Or haiku, sonnets or even worse.
So, I have to have a decent thought.
Or all this scribbling is for naught.
My thoughts of past were very bold.
They’re all gone now. I’m very old.

Sailing

I thought I saw a dolphin,
Out swimming in the sea.
It could have been a mermaid,
They look the same to me.
(I need my glasses.)

I’m on the second watch,
I’m sitting on my balcony.
I’m on my third Mojito,
So it looks pretty clear to me.
(Rum is tasty.)

I was born to be a sailor,
To explore the Seven Seas.
I just need a decent cabin,
And another Mojito, please.
(Watching the ocean is thirsty work.)

This may not be the life,
Of the brave sailors of old times.
They made a living sailing,
Among their many crimes.

I’m too late to be a pirate,
As Jimmy Buffett said.
Yet, staring at the ocean
Will get inside your head.
(Can you get me another Mojito?)

Progress

The Cutty Sark made seventeen knots,

From London Town to China.

She used the wind to carry tea.

For a time, there were none finer.

The clipper ships were eclipsed

By new ships powered by steam.

The steamship beat the ships with sails,

But sails are still a sailor’s dream.

So, today I’m doing twenty knots,

With diesel-electric power down below.

Three knots faster than the Cutty Sark.

Is it such a better way to go?