by Margo Maris
Friday, August 23, 2002
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It was a beautiful morning, the sun had just risen,
on water fleeing the canyon walls of its prison.
We floated along on that rolling surface,
seeking the perfect setting for our purpose.
A secluded cove came into our view,
we neared it and knew our dreams had come true .
Fine sand for the children to build their castles,
we could anchor the boat without any hassles.
Securely anchored, we were ready to play,
on this, the first of our vacation days.
Chaperoned by ancient, water carved walls,
it was pure relaxation for us all.
We had looked forward to this for nearly a year,
anxiously waiting to leave winter’s drear.
The little ones played while we basked in the sun,
winter lay buried, summer had come.
We were on vacation, enjoying freedom from stress,
I probably needed it more than the rest.
The past year had pushed my endurance level,
to the point where I might have sold my soul to the devil.
“We’re unloading the jet skis”, I heard someone say,
so I knew the big kids were ready to play.
I loved watching them become one with the lake,
leaving behind all their cares in its wake.
The Colorado River provided this pleasure,
its age old history was ours to treasure.
Man built the dam that held it back,
but nature provided the beauty with her knack.
The next thing I knew, they were approaching me,
carrying a life jacket and pointing to a ski.
“Mom”, they said, “it’s time you learn,
so we’re going to let you have the first turn”.
I was given a lesson on what I should do,
because I’d be out there without a crew.
Life jacket on, I was prepared to ride,
I climbed on gingerly, legs astride.
I didn’t really want to learn, it terrified me,
but a good sport I wanted to be.
I started it up and headed out,
my sanity I was beginning to doubt.
The beauty surrounding me subdued my fright,
and I embraced it with infatuated delight.
Spray from the resistance of the water below,
cooled my body while putting on its show.
I probably didn’t go over ten miles an hour,
but I could still feel the thrill of this power.
As I became more comfortable, I felt quite hip,
because this old dog had learned a new trick.
I learned to ride a jet ski, I thought with a start,
and considered myself pretty darned smart.
Gathering my nerve, I went a little faster,
which turned out to be quite a disaster.
Waves began crashing against my craft,
and I wondered how I could have been so daft.
Should never have tried this at my age,
I’m supposed to be a sensible old sage.
White caps were appearing all around,
I couldn’t hear any other sound.
Losing strength in body and soul,
I now feared it was time to pay the toll.
Trying to still my ever heightening fright,
I managed to listen with all my might.
And then, from what didn’t seem far away,
I heard voices, would they save the day?
“Mom”, they shouted, laughing over the roar,
“stop all that screaming, you’re twenty feet from shore”.
The wind wasn’t blowing, the sky wasn’t dark,
the waves were the wake from a boat called, “The Lark”.
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|Reviewed by Micha Julian
|I love this...the mixture of humor and heart, oh, this is a delight of a poem, it...ah, makes one feel the spray of the water and the fear...and the smilies as well, Love this...Margo Maris, heart...such heart, here!|
|Reviewed by Lady Peg
|Beautiful this was an enjoyable excellent read.|
|Reviewed by Sailor Neptune
|Very enjoyable read..|
|Reviewed by Linda Hill
|OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh you got me there!
Thought you were surely in trouble!
Great write..gave me my smile this morning.
I'm going to the beach next month..but
I think I'll let the others handle the
jet skies! Loved this write!