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The Old Ferry Boat

The ferryboat hangs
from a wobbly overhead cable,
as if it were an umbilical cord.
Water plants tickle the rotting
underbelly of wood.
As the ferry eases its way across,
the river signals distress.
Rains were scarce in the mountains that year.

The flat craft groans
at dusty Fords and Chevrolets.
They’re chained to iron rings
on protesting planks.
Vans, small trucks slide out of place
like cheap jigsaw puzzles.
A paint-less tractor leaks oil and age,

Guide-cable traces slim shadow
on surface of water.
There are no clouds.
Glare whiteouts the globe of fire.
Chimangos fly in eliptic circles.
Thirty minutes drag themselves out,
I begin to feel sick.
We reach muddy banks on the far side.
Men in bombachas pull at chains,
reel in tarred ropes.

We’ve crossed Río Negro at Choele-Choel.
Now for bumpy winding trails,
occasional flights of martinettes
and the artful mimicry of ñandúes hurrying
through scrub on knobby shanks.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Review Request (Direction): 
How does this theme appeal to you?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

length of poem should involve no Scrolling
NOW YOU Have to sing
why such a long poemy string

very visual; I imagine myself being one of those chain-pulling men at the muddy river bank. Nice--and so is the last strophe. Jerry

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>Please visit my website: www.jerrykspoetry.com

Thank you, Jerry, glad you like it. As I said to lovedly, I'm revising old poems. These will eventually be written as prose poetry.
Glad you like the ending. Now, why would you imagine yourself being one of the men pulling the chains? You like mud baths?
All the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

yes, your write is very real to me. I can hear the groans of men hard at work--no, at the few pesos you tourists toss at them, lol. And, here they charge you good money for a mud bath--if you can get one. Mostly, mud-baths are reserved for the hogs. For me, they make an exception, lol. Bye, Gracy.
Jerry

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>Please visit my website: www.jerrykspoetry.com

Dear Jerry, good to hear the groans, but we were not tourists, my Dad had to go to an estancia across the river because he was the Treasurer there. I loved going with him. The ferry crossing was a great adventure.
Mud baths with sulphur in them are curative. We have them in Argentina. I don't know whether hogs actually like the mud. Farmers put them in small spaces full of mud, I always wondered whether the poor animals enjoy that. Hmm...
Thanks so much for re-visiting, much appreciated. All the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

Hi lovedly, sorry, you're right, of course. This is really from a personal journal from my young days in Argentine Patagonia. I'm checking them out, one by one. I'll probably write them as prose poetry.
Thanks for visiting, all the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

As ever you bring the theme to life and with such imagery, water plants tickle the rotting underbelly of wood, rich in imagery all the way through. I just love to see your poems. I've always wanted to go on a paddlewheel boat, we don't have ferry boats in Florence. The river Arno is to shallow.

Thank you...Teddy

Dear Teddy, thanks for visiting and commenting. Glad you like the imagery. Well, our river was rather shallow too, that's why the "underbelly" was rotting and leaking.
I absolutely loved Florence, you're so lucky to live there, I wish I could visit one more time.
Thanks so much for your comments, always happy when you come by. All the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

If this world epidemic quiets down, and you get to come, I'm here and I would show you round, with the greatest of pleasure. Or even a virtual tour

Thank you...Teddy

Dear Teddy, that sounds wonderful! I wonder whether I'll ever make it. I want to visit my close relatives in Britain, especially my brother and his large family, then I'd like to visit countries such as Croatia, Slovenia, Poland, etc., because I never got to them, only the old Yugoslavia, because Tito allowed tourism. And I have a personal debt with Salamanca, Spain. Quite close, so who knows?
Bless you, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

to comment and critique this later or tomorrow . ~ Geezer.
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Our Chatroom is open 24/7 Feel free to use it for
keeping in touch We have poets around the world and it is fun
to have real-time conversations with those that are up
all night or on the other side of the world.
.

Looking forward to your visit, Geez. Hope all is well. I've been a bit absent lately, trying to put together a book of poems and stories to publish someday.
All the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

with your descripive lines and the images you provoke. I particulary liked the Ford and Chevy's chained and the old tractor leaking oil. It must have been very exciting for a young girl to go on such adventures. What a great thing to have had a father who obviously enjoyed your company on such trips. ~ Geez.
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Our Chatroom is open 24/7 Feel free to use it for
keeping in touch We have poets around the world and it is fun
to have real-time conversations with those that are up
all night or on the other side of the world.
.

Dear Geez, I'm so pleased you returned to read my prose poem. Yes, my Dad took us to many places, always in Argentine Patagonia. It was tough getting around in those days, but such an adventure!
These narrative poems will form the last section of a book I'm preparing to publish. I'll probably call it "My Diary" or somesuch title. The first part will be all poetry.
All the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

My Diary? No, that sounds too pedestrian, lol. How about, "Growing Up in Patagonia"? No, just as bad? "My Llife in Patagonia." See you at the bookstore.
Bye Gracy.
Jerry

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>Please visit my website: www.jerrykspoetry.com

Thank you, Jerry, you're quite right. I like your first suggestion. Not sure it will ever be published, but I'll have a good shot at it. Yes, I can shoot with rifles...lol.
All the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment
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