From James Webb Wilson (Jim the Poet)

Vernon, USA

White Sails Riding High

I saw the white sails ride high
A massive armada across the azure sky
Each thought in a mighty seaworthy craft
White sails afore and white sails aft.
A thought drawn taut and billowed out
Providence assured without a doubt.
Soft sails of pride, genuine and real
With a bold mast and a sturdy keel.

I saw the little skiffs on the bay
A gay regatta on a blustery day.
They danced about, all in good sorts
White sails dancing while the sun cavorts
With the sweet allusions that tantalize
By sending white sails before our eyes.

I saw the summer breeze chase
One after another at its own pace,
The pace they keep right from the start
Seeking a temporal identity of heart
Living for now in this brief encounter

© James Webb Wilson 2009


I was tired from a long day at work,
I sat out in my lawn chair reading
It was shortly after a good supper
While Muffin the cat rested at my feet.

The sky was silent and much above me
It lent me clouds of classical design
White Ionic columns of a great temple
From Zeus’s grin to Minerva’s dimple
Where divinity seemed simple
As they sat on their Olympian thrones,
Settling over my Connecticut bones.

Then by the evening breezes led
Their white horses coaxed were sped
From one corral to another,
Some were as Pegasus promptly tethered
Others in white mare’s tails drifted off
All the Gods horses were so well aligned
They floated in symmetry and silence refined

I count the serenity of each cloud I see
As they steady me and put me at ease
I wonder why Rushmore does not have knees.
I watch the clouds in the evening air
And merely let my imagination
In the majestic drama unrehearsed
Each guess is as good as the first,
Each scene gets its rave review
On this stage of clouds and peace.

© James Webb Wilson 2009

I saw the skiffs upon the bay
One by one as they raised their sails,
White linen sails to catch the shy summer breeze
Billowed out and ready to race.
This great fleet of a nautical regatta
Ready to drift across the celestial sea
While the crows watched from the hill

We needed no tickets and never will
As we sat up in our box seats at home.

I saw the wild race begin
With a slow but steady start
The way all boats start out,
Adjusting t the currents passing by,
Feeling the tension in the sails,
Setting the rudder for direction.
They moved out in one procession
Their white sails proud impression.

Then the Levantine breezes stirred
And set the skiffs a challenge strong
Each skiff seemed told to move along
Some skiffs died along the way,
Some struggled on courageously.
Perhaps upstream somewhere.
Or dissipate, dissolve and be gone
Clipped by the reaper of the celestial lawn.

© James Webb Wilson 2009

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