Poetry Pick

SUMMER AT HONEY HARBOUR

by William Moore
Ontario, Canada

Perched on the shadow-stippled piling
Green leafed by the fish swimming oil filmed waters,
Black shadowed in the down sloping afternoon,
The off white crack sided box of the old hut,
The cabin by the sedge edge, called and beckoned to us strangers.

As the roaring water beetle taxi boat
Clove the dark waters to white wake,
Anne, bug eyed uncertain, fingered the gunwales,
Strove so hard for insouciance

In the sunshimmer of the golden day lake
Three figures and a head appeared
Bowed in a sampan skiff,
Dull and dragged in the sunspilled day,
Drugged by the lap lap of the washwash waters,
The swash fingered the green scummed pilings.
Fishing they were, and immobile,
Looking like a Chinese print.
And then they saw us; and waved.


 
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