July 9thOne of the most serene scenes on any waterway is the maneuvering of a vessel over the surface. For this prompt, write about a boat of some sort, a tugboat, sailboat, a catamaran, cruise ship or whatever boats you float. You’re the captain, or a passenger. You might even be the boat. But don’t sail on today without leaving your poem on our shore.



July 8 – Seaweed/Kelp

July 7 – Sandcastles

July 6 – Lifeguard

July 5 – In The Swim

July 4 – Fireworks on the Lake

140 thoughts on “LIFE IS A BEACH – BOATS

  1. The Queen Of All The Sea

    She is the queen of all the sea,
    And we are just her humble slaves;
    Without a doubt, we all can see
    She is the queen of all the sea;
    Her sides are painted white and green,
    And trimmed with bright blue of the waves;
    She is the queen of all the sea,
    And we are just her humble slaves.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013


    Smooth sailing on an azure lake,
    tides and time waiting for no one reason
    to change the course we manipulate.
    We are the captains of logic, charting
    the stars for the safe route home.
    But as the swell begins to toss your
    weary hull, an instance comes to fore
    that all that seems tranquil, is now
    turbulent and unrelenting, preventing you
    from the completion of your journey.
    In your thinking you order the lifeboats,
    not giving up the ship, and not going down
    with out a fight, tonight and every night.
    You stand determined, hand on the rudder
    and tacking a hard starboard course angling
    directly into the storm that batters your horizon.
    Catching your sail, it turns you to your heart’s
    safe harbor, a lifeline tethered and strong,
    sailing right along to the sanctuary of your soul.

    © Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2013


    “Our God himself could never sink this ship.”
    And so the play began. All players, crew
    and passengers, felt sheltered in the new
    and glistening liner’s hull; the maiden trip
    would surely show that men and steel could grip
    the waves and sally forth to rendezvous
    with squalls and storms, taming them through and through
    and rendering the ocean but a pip.
    The winter North Atlantic played its part:
    it masked an April face with zephyred tact
    and proffered swells a landsman could not dread.
    That final night it fully showed its art:
    glittering stars witnessed the curtain act
    as lookouts called, “Iceberg right ahead.”


    In a bit of a boat on a turbulent sea,
    I ride bounding adrift with no harbor in sight
    to dispense with relief and some rest in the lee.
    In a bit of a boat on a turbulent sea,
    I am fearful this ocean will yet render me
    yet another lost soul when the day fades to night.
    In a bit of a boat on a turbulent sea
    I ride: bounding, adrift, with no harbor in sight.

    copyright 2013, William Preston

  5. Pingback: Nimbly We Float | Metaphors and Smiles

  6. Nimbly We Float
    Hide stretched taut,
    timber wrought skeleton,
    empty cavernous body,
    holds me…
    carries me gracefully
    over silent dark water;
    we move together as one.
    Our reflection slides across the surface,
    ripples to meet pond lily
    and indigo-iridescent dragon fly
    perched on a single strand of grass.
    This piece of history and me,
    we glide in unison;
    skin, bones and hollow space within
    void but for each new breath,
    hide and this ligneous uninhabited cavity
    void but for my spirit refreshed.
    We’re joined elementally
    by hands that have made for centuries
    the beautifully-lithe
    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013


    At last
    I realize
    that truth is still the truth:
    my boat still so small; the sea, still
    so wide.

    copyright 2013, William Preston


    who flout the sea
    must learn respect, and so
    the punishment must fit the crime:

    copyright 2013, William Preston

  9. Pingback: How to Fight that Sinking Feeling | The Chalk Hills Journal


    Today I don’t envy a fish,
    don’t wish for a cool wet life,
    don’t wish to be a toad
    with a croak in my throat,
    because today
    I’m afloat
    like a boat.

  11. The Dory

    Sometimes we sailed the Pacific so blue
    Where we found islands, deserted and new

    The O’Riley’s back yard was our sea of green grass
    (The dory was left there in place of the cash

    Their renters had owed them when they moved far away)
    Perhaps we would meet them on the ocean some day.

    Or maybe Lake Erie which was not very far
    To get there we needed a truck or a car

    The O’Riley’s had neither, they traveled by bus
    Voyages in the dory were taken by us

    The neighborhood children, both girls and boys
    We were captains and pirates, we made too much noise

    The dory was old, rot grew in its boards
    Which we pulled out and waved them like swords.

    We captains prepared for a pirate attack
    The pirates were boys with a flag that was black

    The battle was fierce, but the dory was old
    Too many loose boards, it could never be sold

    Deep in the grass it sat until it sank
    From too many pirates who were walking the plank.

  12. Fishing Boat

    Somewhere in early morning there’s a lake
    and you in solitude sit quiet, bound
    in thought as drifting fog muffles all sound
    hushed, awed, before the Holy you quake
    in reverent bent of mind and frame you’d gone
    not only to fish but recharge, renew
    all things in life that had become askew
    and found peace and contentment in the dawn.

    This is how I see you in my mind’s eye
    in a boat on smooth lake with rod in hand
    all cares, all pain gone, what remains is peace.
    The fog lifted, you’ve said the last goodbye
    and if true there be a heavenly strand
    this then is where you will have found release.

  13. How about a Luc Bat?

    A View of Ha Long Bay

    Small fishing boats are flung
    across the bay like strung clay beads.
    Soft azure water leads
    the eye to measure bleeds of blues
    as sky meets wave—mixed hues
    of sunset as we lose the day.
    We give our hearts away
    to God’s ink on a bay, hallowed.

  14. Boating Date

    I fancy that you’ll row, there facing me,
    as I sit dragging fingers in the lake
    and look into dark shadows under trees
    along the shore where sunning turtles make

    the rocks and logs look jeweled with their shells
    and little fish rise near them, taking air.
    I fancy in the depth of lake there dwells
    a depth of feeling that we two can share.

    Your chest is mighty as you push and pull;
    your eyes grow dark with effort and we smile,
    imagining a private spot, a lull,
    where fancy can meet fancy for a while.

    Instead, we board a speedboat, roar and go.
    You fancy speed; I fancy deep and slow.

  15. Pingback: Kayak | Whimsygizmo's Blog

  16. Kayak

    We are pal
    -indromes, you and
    buoyant in our gliding,
    deciding direction only
    by woo of wind and wave.

    I save my most sacred
    moments for this watery
    skin, this silent skim
    along mirrored glaze.

    I am indigo veins
    and forward flow,
    whispered sea
    -crets only you know.
    You spill me
    into sunrise
    and don’t tell a soul.


  17. The Wind in her Sails

    Hot breezes give her rise,
    picking up speed
    she blows by everyone else
    without pause, giving no quarter
    gaining momentum,
    until a shift in directions
    deflates her sails;
    flustered, she musters her ropes
    to follow,
    gaining momentum
    once again.

    • Wonderful words here: the change from smoothness to activity is well captured in “flustered, she musters”.

      There’s danger in being last on the list: comments tend to get misplaced….

  18. Wonderful words here: the change from smoothness to activity is well captured in “flustered, she musters”.

  19. Life is a Beach : “I am a Boat?”

    My boat’s adrift; her sails have lost the wind.
    I need a captain from some distant shore
    who’ll pull up anchor; ship exotic blend
    from this frame’s hold; make room for more!

    My boat has ample sail and she is trim.
    Her dreams have color and a high romance
    of sea and wind and frothy water’s brim
    across a ship that cherishes the dance.

    But all is silent ghost and lethargy;
    I’m caught inside a muggy, foggy tide.
    With no direction on her compass, sees
    her stern into a darker water glide.

    Oh, drifting boat; in agony, proceed!
    Or else this poet; landlubber, will bleed!

    (had a little trouble with my muse today, lol. Could not set sail)

  20. I hope to be back with a a new offering…in the meantime, here’s something I wrote about a year ago that fits here…


    in my marrow
    I feel it,
    link after link
    is loosed,
    your heart
    no longer anchored
    to mine, as mine

    in your wake
    I’m left
    to navigate
    the choppy seas,
    as I pitch,
    not knowing what
    is in store

    the deck
    is cleared,
    I stand alone;
    no one beside me
    at the rail, no one
    at my stern;
    no one waiting
    at port

    P. Wanken

  21. Hope its ok to post a re-run, but I felt this fit the prompt.
    Wrote this about a month ago, to the day, while watching Mom go Home. Many of you posted condolences, hugs prayers and just kind words – and I thank you all so much for that!

    Mom’s Final Voyage

    By David De Jong
    June 8, 2013

    With immeasurable love for our mother,
    Who loved all, and gave all, so very much.
    Take reward in God’s abundant blessings,
    From this moment, and forever more.
    For as we humbly watch you leave this place
    We see His reflection upon your face

    A tall ship marks the horizon afar,
    Precious cargo in alabaster jar.

    Masts of Cedar from Lebanon’s first choice,
    Fashioned and hewn by our dear Savior’s voice.

    Its sails; full, set, glistening white,
    A shadow cast beneath spectrums bright.

    As it travels constant, sure, and steady,
    Its passenger waits a-shore, full ready.

    Her crew of angels, mastering the helm,
    Choruses ringing, heard throughout the realm.

    Sunlight; appears dim, the moon; empty, dark,
    Comparing radiance, this heaven’s ark.

    For heaven she sails, all seven winds drawn,
    Eternity, wisped on the wings of dawn.

    Slowly the horizon swallows it whole,
    Angel’s voices rejoicing, replacing the dole,
    God’s choir – welcoming home – this saintly soul.

    • Yes, David … of course you may repost this wonderful, beautiful, poignant piece. And yes, it certainly does fit.

      It makes me think of an old hymn that I can’t quite recall, but includes the following:

      “But just think of stepping on shore, and finding it Heaven
      Of touching a hand, and finding it God’s
      Of breathing new air, and finding it celestial
      Of waking up in glory, and finding it home. ”


  22. Paddle On

    The beer is in the back,
    snacks are on the seat,
    our friends are in the middle
    putting up their feet.

    The canoe drifts lazily
    our paddling is crappy,
    but we are having quite a blast
    and all of us are happy.

    A carefree, giggling canoe trip
    with people I adore,
    an afternoon of comradeship
    along the river’s shore.

    No river is quite long enough
    with all its twists and bends.
    I wish my life was like this boat,
    that carries all my friends.


    Saltwater fishing
    Wishing for something to tug my line
    Divine blue waters hold rich cache
    That thrash and splash, while just below
    The tidal flow – a manatee!
    And he, bigger than the boat we’re in
    And smarter than we, apparently,
    This herbivore chills out off shore
    And lacks for zilch as we aspire to filch
    His sapphire abode,
    Bestowed by our Creator.

  24. Granny’s Party Barge

    Granny called it her party barge,
    when she talked Pop into trading
    the ski boat for a pontoon.

    The grown kids groaned, bemoaning
    their last chance for escape
    when the family met at the lake.

    The hot dogs and ice cream,
    the watermelon and barbecue
    were enough for the smaller kids.

    Those in their teens weren’t happy
    anywhere among their elders,
    least of all on a slow boat with Grandma.

    She didn’t seem to note the discontent,
    so happy with her investment,
    blithely unaware they only humored her.

    Until John found it just right for fishing,
    and Reese sold the girls his age on tanning
    out in the lake with him, away from the children.

    Then Ben and Jeff made up a corny song
    about the pontoon, naughty lyrics they never
    let their parents or grandparents hear.

    And soon the grownups pulled rank,
    grumbling that the kids had taken over
    and their time had come, strapping on vests.

    Meanwhile, Granny and Pop cleaned up the mess,
    chunked watermelon rind into the lake, baited hooks
    for all the smaller kids. Their plan had worked.

  25. Sail On

    He stands at the helm
    In total control of the ship
    Waters calm like glass
    No breeze blowing
    Nevertheless the ship sails
    Without engine
    And turning propeller
    Without sail
    Billowing full
    Without effort
    The ship sails on
    Captain in charge
    Course set sure
    Into eternity
    Sail on

    © 2013 Earl Parsons

  26. The Captain

    Like a ship on a mission
    We sail through our lives
    From cradle to grave
    Through the calm waters
    And the storms in between
    At the helm we stand
    The Captain at our side
    He allows us to steer
    If we feel the need
    We oft drift off course
    Yet He says not a word
    Lest we ask for His help
    Which He gladly provides
    Then we’re back at the helm
    Drifting hither and yon
    While the Captain stands by
    Silently watching
    Waiting for the moment
    We request His assistance
    Hoping on hope
    That there will come the day
    When we finally give in
    And let Him take the wheel
    As it should have always been
    After all
    He’s the Captain

    © 2013 Earl Parsons

  27. Little Row Boat

    Round and Round in our little row boat
    Oh, we have fun, but we don’t go anywhere
    At least we two can stay afloat
    Round and Round in our little row boat
    And look at how much time we devote
    Okay, we’re not so big on finesse and flair
    Round and Round in our little row boat
    Oh, we have fun, but we don’t go anywhere


    The vessel
    waters support.

    copyright 2013, William Preston

  29. Staten Island Ferry

    If you catch the Staten Island ferry
    at sunset, watery waves of color
    will ripple toward you. Stand
    in the rear, turn around,
    and watch Manhattan meld
    into a collage
    of building and light.

  30. (my “boat” poem rewritten…after much research on Moby Dick and the meaning of “lee”. This poem just would not leave me alone last night)

    Adrift, Upon the Lee

    My soul’s adrift; her sail has lost the wind.
    I need a westerly to fight my lee;
    to pull up anchor chain and with it send
    my sails a flutter, full-blown, out to sea.

    My boat has ample weight yet she is trim.
    Her dreams of color and a high romance
    run sun and wind and frothy water’s brim
    across a deck that cherishes the dance.

    But still a silent ghost with lethargy;
    I’m caught inside a muggy, foggy tide.
    With no direction set on compass, see
    her stern into a darker water glide.

    Oh, save us from that whore; my soul set free,
    or else this landlubber; this poet, bleed.

  31. Pingback: Buried At Sea | echoes from the silence

    (a shadorma)

    we passed over her.
    Her bones, bared,
    in the depths
    of her final resting place.
    Stories left untold.

    P. Wanken

    • I presume you mean a ship. My first thought is Ironbotom Sound, the strait between Guadalcanal and Tulagi, but it could be anywhere. No wonder maritime (and aviation) people speak of “souls.” Loved your poem. You write in this form so well.

      • Thanks, William. I appreciate it. There’s an image on my blog post, but I’m glad the inference to a ship came through, without it.

  33. Rictameter (2 4 6 8 10 8 6 4 2)

    the rising sun,
    racing the rolling waves
    setting the sail to catch the wind,
    facing the unknown beyond the shore line,
    riding the swells, catching the spray
    gulls surfing the wake
    out on the sea
    we’re one.

  34. A couple days late so I wrote three…sleeping off the effects of the booty I plundered…

    I want not a boat
    to host a chopper

    Waiting for high tide
    My boat will make sense
    in Des Moine
    when the ice caps melt

    Modern Day Pirate
    I raid
    ice chests for rum.
    Surrender the booty!
    Arrgh! I’m a pirate, sans cutlass
    and boat.

  35. Sail Away

    Send me a southern breeze
    Billow this sail
    Just right for me
    Keel close enough
    To trail fingertips
    And taste salt spray on my lips

  36. Glass Bottom Boat

    The starfish turned great
    Octopus leant his
    To minnows jumping
    Under tsunami’s storm

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