Wednesday, July 23, 2014

July 23, 2014 - Mountain Run Lake in iambic pentameter

Lo! Work over for the day,
So a’fishing I have gone,
I put the canoe in at six,
Under a blazing sun.

‘Round towards the dam,
Along the windward bank, towards the lee,
88 Fahrenheit,
Beneath that tranquil sea.

What terrible luck,
'Cause on the horizon what do I see?
But a darkening cloud,
Scudding along toward me.

A few drops at first,
Then a heavy shower,
Do I fish on through,
Or self-preserve and cower?

No hatches to batten,
No respite at hand,
Do I fish on through,
Or make for dry land?

Crash! Bang! Boom! MotherF-ing Doom!
The sky torn asunder,
Can I make it to safety,
Or am I going under?

Jockeying for position
All the boaters scurry,
Pulling their trailers around,
Taking out in a hurry.

Sitting in my car,
For a quarter of an hour,
The arrival of the sun,
Signals an end to the shower.

My hopes dashed,
Nothing copacetic,
Nothing left to do,
But try and be poetic.

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