So I’m on vacation right now, and had a bit of an adventure. I made a silly poem about it. I encourage you all to do this occasionally- write not for yourself, but for another person as a gift. Takes you out of your head for a while, even if the meter ends up messed up or not all the rhymes work. Such exercises remind you who you’re really writing for anyways. My family really seemed to like the poem (partially because they were involved in it), and the project gave me a break from some other stories and screenplays that eat away at my head. In fact, if anyone here has any requests for a story or a skit or a poem, I’d be happy to oblige. But that’s enough stalling. Enjoy my Coleridge parody!
Rime of the Foolish Edinger
Far back when New York Chills did blow
over Lake Skaneateles,
there was a drunk cruising the waves:
a dullard, a ninny, tactless.
He painted his waves over water
like a wild modern artist.
The Edinger boat looked like port to him-
we learned he wasn’t the smartest.
So with the engine’s snarl behind,
and a beer in his beer-soaked hand,
he accelerated and- how do I say this?
You ever take a rock to a coke can?
The Edinger boat was torn apart,
despite its previous endurance.
The drunkard looked at the sinking wreck
and realized he had no insurance.
A crew arrived later to survey the wreck-
the pontoons, the engine, the prop-
and ferried it out of Skaneateles…
forgetting the bimini top.
(You all know about bimini tops,
correct? Covers half the hull, bit
that’s like a canopy for the boat,
gives real nice shade- eh, just google it).
For eons the bimini top languished
like a mute man’s speaking wish-
surrounded by piercing zebra muscles,
bits eaten by confused fish.
There it remained until the arrival
of the city-born sons of John.
These Edingers journeyed to the small speedboat
that replaced the boat that was gone.
They jumped off the dock, swam past Dan’s boat,
acting careful not to touch;
then Sue’s boat, then raft, then the small speedboat-
beyond that there’s just not much.
There was Rob, son of John, devourer of Worlds;
there was Matt, the man of Iron.
There was Nick, who skied on one ski once,
but afterwards found himself tired.
As his brothers climbed the ladder of the boat,
Nick peered to the green abyss
to find the relic of the old pontoon boat.
And then he called “Oi! What’s this?”
Nick picked up the metal scrap and pulled,
and surfaced just once for a breath.
He dropped the wreckage and gasped for air-
no way to complete a theft.
His family applauded his deep lake find
upon return. His uncle was curious.
“If you found that, Nick, perhaps you’ll find
our lost cover, if the trip’s not injurious.”
Nick dived to the treacherous depths below,
but found no cover, just wreckage.
The family council upon the hill
then chose to test Nick’s essence.
“Nicholas, the council decrees that you
bring up the top to a dry spot.”
That’s what Nick heard. He suggested it first,
and the drinking adults replied “Why not?”
A rowboat with a rope hung to the docks,
with the walls of waves it wrestled.
Nick witnessed the dinghy and shouted out,
“This will be my questing vessel!”
Nick sprinted down the hill’s stone steps,
at the rowboat’s docking did they meet.
Nick took his grand odyssey’s first step,
and stepped right onto the seat.
For those not nautically informed, the rowboat’s
seat is quite unsteady.
You can slip and fall off like a child on a raft,
and our hero Nick was not ready.
After the laughter from the hill died down
and after Nick spat out the water,
our hero climbed back onto his steed
and sped through the lake like an otter.
An otter high of meth, to be frank-
long ago, Nick’s rowing skills died.
If the police were on patrol then,
they’d’ve given another DUI.
But Nick arrived at the wreckage site
and dived with a rope in hand
to attach the bimini top to the boat!
This was as far as Nick planned.
Nicholas climbed back on the boat-
it was harder than it seemed,
due to that insidious Faustian deal
known only as Krispy Kremes!
Nick began his journey back to the cottage,
but forgot an important factor-
due to the front rope dragging the load,
he’d have to make the back trip backwards.
With pulls that pulverized his biceps,
with no drink to make the trip sweeter,
Nick strained and pushed ‘till his shoulders gave out
and found he travelled, like, a meter.
But Nick could not give in front of his folks,
so he lifted and churned and shoved,
and looked to the hill, until he saw
two dragonflies- making love?
It looked like that, they were together joined,
and one of them kept bucking
against the other… Nick pondered this:
what’s it like when dragonflies are… hugging?
So he kept his mind on insect love,
and the exercise made the work lighter.
But when he looked up and scanned the lakeside,
it didn’t make his day brighter.
He only had arrived at the boat of Sue,
his muscles were sore and stunted.
the waves were knocking his small progress back,
and now the rowboat was flooded!
Every shift of his body brought liquid in.
And when Coleridge made that one quote;
“Water, water, everywhere,”
Nick knew he didn’t mean the boat!
It was then a savior in a kayak came,
a resident of neighborly fame.
“Is there anything I can help you out with?”
said the wonderful Lady What’s-Her-Name.
Nick only asked for a sole bucket
and explained why, in the past hour,
he rowed in place, creating only splashes
in a pitiful display of power.
So the lady brought over a bucket from Nick’s mom,
and Nick heaved the water out!
Now, instead of moving like a rock,
he could move like a brain-dead trout!
But even right here, Nick didn’t give up-
he merely reconsidered
as he looked to the slightly shallowed bottom
of a lake that was zebra-muscle-littered.
It was here an idea struck our hero
like a get-rich scheme to a hobo-
“I can’t carry the load for the boat- I’ll just carry
the boat! Like Samwise did for Frodo!”
Nick jumped back in, flooding the boat again,
and dove to where the rope held taut.
He pulled and he swam and he dragged the top
across the rocks in his great plot.
He dove and strained and surfaced for breath,
and repeated this all down the path
back to the cottage, just missing Dan’s boat
and avoiding that apocalyptic wrath.
Nick swam past the dock, safe from the muscles.
The feet until land were few.
So he heaved the bimini top out of the water,
and carried it with a “hhhhrrrrrrgggggggAAAA
The bimini top had reached the shore!
Nick ran up the hill, still coughing,
to exclaim his victory to the unwinding folks
who responded “We really weren’t watching.”
“Well, Grandma saw when you rowed in place,
and the lady’s bucket came from your mother,
but we were chatting and having our drinks.”
Then Bob said, “Did you find our cover?”
So thus I conclude this epic tale
of trial for trial’s sake
to document the folly of all of those
living Skaneateles Lake.