Les Ecrehous

We're out on the rib,
Jeremy Longarms and the crew
from the shack on the rock.
Giles Le Guille is shouting
and with little thought
to the mysterious elf
that insists we all wear life jackets,
which are all unzipped
as we balance the wicker
and bottles bounce
of an indifferent vintage
that when we reach
Les Ecrehous will have
been shaken, rattled and rolled
and if we see a damn seal
it will be a double.

The sand is golden
as we are deposited
rather unceremoniously,
Jeremy Longarms
doesn't do brakes
or anchors, he just
imagines he is on a hovercraft.
The Savage is green
and the rest of us
cramped, we roll out rugs
and empty baskets,
melamine is such a treat,
those hardy ones of us
will take a dip
and sip, and snap
at the rare birds
and blue skies
with special clouds
that sail like yachts
billowing like old ladies skirts
until it is time to go
and Giles Le Guille
is flying us back
the salty spray
swaying us into make
belief
until
Savage is sick
but at least

I think I see the ghost
of Alphonse Le Gastelois
raising two fingers
and telling the
day trippers to just
**** off home.




Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 841 times
Written on 2016-09-09 at 20:12

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Thank you, Elle. This brought back fond memories of sailing among Australia's Whitsunday Islands for days a couple of weeks ago.
2016-09-10



This poem's lively language gets our attention immediately, and doesn't let go of it. Well done!
2016-09-09


one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
A beautifully written remembrance.
2016-09-09