Mermaids In The Sun

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    Mermaids In The Sun

    He kept a home in Dublin
    And one in Santa Fae
    But the ocean was his mistress so he lived in St. John's Bay
    Where he could see the tide come rising
    With great ships that rode the waves
    The seaside was his comfort and he loved her flirting ways
    Then one day in November
    As the tide began to rise
    He watched in pure amazement at the joy that caught his eyes
    He could see two mermaids swimming
    And they waved him to jump in
    This waters fine one cried out
    While the other one just grinned
    He half thought for a moment
    Then he began a full paced run
    His heart now set for swimming
    With two mermaids in the sun
    The tide was steady rising
    As he swam into the surf
    He knew he was invited to some new exotic turf
    The churning waves they caught him
    As the mermaids laughed for joy
    They loved the gray haired codger acting like a little boy
    They waited as they reached him
    And then each one grabbed an arm
    The old boy was so smitten that he never seemed alarmed
    That old boy was my brother
    And I've never heard from him again
    But there's witnesses who tell me
    That young mermaids eat old men
    So now I live in Dublin
    I keep a home in Santa Fae
    But I won't go near the ocean
    I stay at home to play

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    Stark commented on Mermaids In The Sun

    05-13-2009

    you have a great, consistant rhythm throughout all of your work...and always such great stories to tell ^_^

    lightcourier commented on Mermaids In The Sun

    05-10-2009

    A very well crafted poem with a well thought out story. Good work! Thanks!

    bandit1192 commented on Mermaids In The Sun

    05-05-2009

    Loved it ken, from start to finish. Us old boys need to stay away from mermaids. TS

    Grito commented on Mermaids In The Sun

    05-05-2009

    Very smooth, well written and a pleasure to see how the mermaids seem to play in the sun, a play that keeps all us older gents at bay.

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    kenparme’s Poems (5)

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