Cruising Choctawhatchee Bay
A poem by Chrome Dome Mike Kimbro
Please read along to my Spoken Verse Performance.
You're known far and wide
For your fishin'.
Grab a spot on the bank
Of a stock tank,
If the rancher grants me admission.
If I had to fish there,
I'd be starving.
The fish are too picky,
For this angler named Mickey,
So filets I'm rarely carving.
Your beaches and bays
Sure are pleasiní.
Iím gonna drop by,
In June or July,
When red snapper are in season.
Canít hold out that long,
Hereís the reason.
As temperatures fall,
Snow, we canít forestall.
By December Iíll be freeziní.
So I checked to see how much time I'd amassed,
For sick leave, comp time, and vacation.
It was just enough so that we'd have a blast,
With our amigos at Kelly Plantation.
Weather.com gave us a great forecast.
Checked all five tires for the right inflation... [Note: That's 4 tires plus the spare!]
On the road, bound for Destin,
And the Choctawhatchee Bay.
Ask myself this one question:
"Is this trip for work or play?"
But to a versifier,
What good is a vacation.
If not to fuel the fire,
We need that inspiration.
All artists say a-men.
Traveliní through Mississippi
Between Vicksburg and Mobile.
Got my son on board with me.
And heís stuck behind the wheel.
Itís true, I might be lazy,
As through the South weíre cruising.
He says I drive him crazy,
With all my rants and musings.
All children say a-men.
Itís so green down in Dixie
Smell of summer in the air.
See a hedge that intrigues me.
Might sound weird, but I donít care.
To aid a muse infertile,
It helps to take a snapshot.
Of shrubbery and crepe myrtles.
So sad, once you have forgot.
All seniors say a-men.
Then my son tries to tell me,
Of the Southern football fields.
They're adorned with cool shrubbery.
Oh, the bliss that banter yields!
Now one might think that he meant,
To shape old Dad's poetry.
But what was his true intent?
To switch my Grand Funk CD,
With something by Thug Life.
What's the shrub which they planted?
Chinese privet fits the bill.
Make the fields seem enchanted
(Down) in Athens and in Chapel Hill.
Image credit below: "The Lesser Known Hedges of Kenan Memorial Stadium" by Ryan Kantor
Image credit below: USA Today.
It's said that, down in Athens,
They play "between the hedges".
The shrubs contain the passions,
(Of) Alumni and pledges.
Whenever Georgia wins.
First day, it was deep sea fishing,
From my bucket list I scratched, what a day.
Got me a taste of what I was missing.
Sweet snapper were the catch of the day.
The charter boat's captain took us out to sea,
A GPS led him to each fishing hole.
The first mate provided the gear so that we
Could drop the line from our fishing poles.
Hoping to hook a snapper which impressed,
None of us planned to be #2.
Males can turn drinking water into a contest.
Don't worry gals, it's just something we do.
Fishing with live bait and pieces of squid,
Whites and mingos were caught, one by one.
But while those wily red snappers stayed hid,
We sure landed our limit of fun.
VERSE 15 - "Seasick and Sad"
But as our time out increased,
And the shore disappeared from view
That excursion's pleasure decreased.
But not so much for Big John's seasoned crew.
As the props were spinning
With a manly rumble
I couldn't look behind the boat.
Sure didn't feel like grinning.
And while I tried not to grumble,
Twas the low point of this anecdote.
Once the boat was back in the harbor,
We watched as the snappers were filleted.
The captain proved to be quite the carver.
The bag of fresh fish was worth the delay.
Later that evening, we sat down to dinner.
Back in Texas, Barb's known for her brisket.
But her blackened snapper is a winner.
Baked fish is alright, but why risk it.
Last trip to Destin, a handsome pair was wed.
One's a lawyer, the other's an accountant.
"A pair of jocks" is what I could have said.
Cause they had loads of athletic talent.
For a wedding gift, they got "Crab on Ceramic"
By the Destin artist Kelly Pierre. >>>>>
We tried to think of something more dynamic,
But the bride did meet Kelly while there.
The weather next morning was fair, with calm seas.
Perfect for checking out Gary's new ship.
A Formula Cruiser with power to please.
Twas the icing on the cake for this trip!
Barb's always on board when Gary's behind the wheel,
Out on the intracoastal waterway.
"Owning such a boat can increase sex appeal!"
That's what the Crab Island cuties all say.
Sometimes I open a bottle,
And gaze into the fire,
Of a backyard chiminea.
But when he opens the throttle,
A different view I admire,
Exiting Legendary Marina.
Got a stocked up fridge.
Thanks to Garyís bride.
And plenty of fuel to burn.
Crank the music a smidge,
As diesel powerís applied.
St. Roseís Bay begins to churn. [Note: The old name for Choctawhatchee Bay.]
With the Mid-Bay Bridge
On our port side
Iím focused on the view astern.
The Captain wasnít born on 3rd base.
With the mighty Mike Trout
At the plate.
Gary's got one hell of a poker face.
Holds a winning hand without
A king, queen, or an ace.
But while he's a bit of a hard case,
As a friend he's devout
And first rate.
Moved to Destin to avoid the rat race.
Where he learned to chill out
Got a quaint corner loft at Kelly place.
And the sporty Maxed Out!
Barbara, his first and soul mate.
Returning from the bay near Crab Island,
The Maxed Out! spins around as if on casters.
The Legendary warehouse was painted by Wyland.
He and Lassen and Nelson are the masters.
Gave thanks and goodbyes for that weekend so great.
Son and I had to be back by Monday.
We headed home from the Sunshine State,
Burning rubber in a bitchin' bronze Hyundai.
With Lee and Thomas in the cast,
We dined on snapper and steak and crustaceans.
But I had to return from Florida fast.
Radar detection would decrease citations.
Boss said, if on Monday, I'm one minute past...
I can choose between death and castration.
Copyright © Michael Kimbro 2016. All rights reserved.
Keywords: Poems about Florida fishing, Poems about the intracoastal waterway, Poems about Formula Boats, Destin Florida poetry, Poems about football field hedges, Poems about fishing charter boats, Poems about marine life art and artists, Poems about road trips.