Dam Seasonal Poetry
 

I have never been one to like poetry, nonetheless write it.  But, I had given Josh an assignment to write a poem titled Winter '08, so to be "fair", I'd write a few, too.  Though not well written, they are lots of fun to write!

All contents on his page are copyright protected.

WINTER SPRING SUMMER FALL
A Test of Fate

Spring Fishing

Piss and Moan Rock

 
Winter '08      
The Boonies      
Winter Tolerant      
A Winter Like This      

Ice Fishing 08

     

Too Cold to Fish?

     

Heels over Head -Newest

     
       

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Test of Fate

 by

Lori-Ann Willey

 

Winter 2008,

Tested our fate!

It started out cold,

And quickly grew old!

 

The north wind blew,

And the skies rarely blue!

Winds whipped and lashed,

You look for a gash!

 

Winds burned our ears,

And felt like sears.

The pine above swayed at its base,

But thankfully stayed put in place.

 

Once the snow started it just would not stop
The paths are so deep you couldn’t see over their tops.

Shadows of human creatures dressed for the snow

Made snowmobilers bundle up and go.

 

Everything blanketed with a solid sheet of white

Falling from the skies both day and night

The woodland creatures find easy prey

Of the largest beasts that can’t run away

 

The snow is so deep, the moose lose their way

They stay on the trails with creatures of prey

Step off the beaten trail, and they fall to their death

With a mouthful of snow fleas they suck their last breath

 

 

WINTER 08

 By: Joshua Don Willey

 

 Free-Verse Style

 

Fog is covering the old way

Beneath the frigid white mist is where the hidden footsteps lay

Searching for a path, which they seem to never find

 

For on the infinite patch of ice and snow

There is nobody to see

The only thing you can have, is a sense of glee

 Only peace is what you will know

 

As your body begins to collect frost,

 A smile will conceal your face

All your sight will be able to perceive

Is the snow blowing in the breeze

 

The beautiful views bring tourists galore

All deceived by the pseudo sights

They think they can master the harsh climate just with the tools in hand

Then step above it, like kings of the land

 

The tourists come to Maine,

Their hiking gear intact

 Those who foolishly brave the winter land

Will find that it will accept no pact

 

But when you have been beaten

You will soon realize

That what cannot be trusted

Is your own two eyes

 

For you have been defeated

Now that your ego has been laid aside

You may rest

 

 

This is Vacationland

 

 

 

The Boonies
 by

Lori-Ann Willey

 

Living in the woods as we love to do

Finds us rescuing people like you!

Rescuing people on land and on ice

Sometimes I wonder why we’re so nice!

 

Some are from Maine, but some are from away

We scratch our heads and wonder why they went this way!

To see all the beauty of the freshly fallen snow

Outtah-statahs have never seen so much glow!

 

Some come with devil-like grins

At the thought of creating all sort of sins

Taking our helmets is one that they did

The bastards took them and away they hid!

 

Some guy having fun rode into a ditch
One wonders if he said "Son-of-a-bitch!"

He dug and dug and dug some more

After an hour he said "No More!"

 

He came to the door asking the favor

Said he dug and he dug and he dug galore

he had to stop to save his own life

'Cause to continue meant he'd soon see the light.

 

Some come from afar for the winter camping experience

Clinging together for some sort of heat and coherence

Soon realize they don’t have what it takes.

Just get me to camp, for God's Sake!

 

They think, they ponder, then, they escape

 In toward their camp after some debate

Their sleds get stuck in the deep-deep snow,

As they tramp in the snow wondering which way to go

 

Once at camp, there is no way inside,

To get to the door or inside to hide.

Digging through the mountainous snow
Find themselves wondering if they should just go.

 

Finding the snow blocking the door,

I wonder if they were up for the chore

Thinking the situation is bound to improve,

To get in, the door must first be removed!

 

To the rescue we went of the many who were stuck

A family living way in here?  What luck!
A disabled man, a large woman, too

Not to mention a teen…are there more of you?


Some look at us in admiration
Others frown and think we’re odd

Here in the boonies

A family of loonies!

 

 

 

Winter Tolerant

 by

Lori-Ann Willey

 

Winter ’08 turned out just fine

We spent it at camp without loosing our minds!

Though people think we’re very brave soles,

With determination of steel, we faired like moles.

 

Temps so cold they froze our lungs!

eyes water so much that tears could be flung

nose hairs freeze and become sharp as pins

You sniff, you cough, as crust cuts your skin.

 

You shovel, you shovel and shovel some more

It gets to the point you can’t shovel no more! 

So you tamp down the snow and wonder how deep

The snow will be in the middle of summers’ heat.

 

Some walk around in a daze

Wondering how to get through the snow maze

The paths are so deep you can’t see over the tops.

Objects once 10’ high are now hurtful head stops.

 

When the wind blows the birds around in the sky

You tell people and they think that you lie!

Their feeders once filled with black oil seed

Now hits the windows at wicked high speeds.

 

Upon the wood stove sits a kettle for steam,

Getting it there takes a strong team.

The water is used for both cooking and cleaning

Ahh, the feel of freshness sends us gleaming.

 

Our family is mostly Maine tolerant,

but there are some that just say “I can’t”.

So, a few have left the -20 below

turning south, some 13 states to mow.

 

Little do they know that all is the same

It won’t be long before it’ll all be tame.

The heat, the cold, it is all relevant

Soon, they will see the South’s deterrent.

 

But, they look upon Maine and they sigh

Remembering they left and then ask “why?”

The two weeks of summer is now passed by,

Off to the tropics snowbirds will fly!

 

Thank God for technology that is so great
Emails and calls we so often make
On foot, it’s one of those “can’t get there from here”

But, with the Internet we can go anywhere!

 

 

A Winter Like This

 by

Lori-Ann Willey

 

We have often wondered how we would do

through an old fashioned winter that we're not used to

Being at camp deep in the woods

Alone, our camp filled with lots of goods

 

Well Winter '08 was one that we endured

with lots of snow we sat real assured

We had our supplies, snowmobiles, too

Don't forget the Ranger, our number one tool!

 

Once the snow started, it just wouldn't stop

Oh, the camps around with all that snow on their tops!

Camps sheltered from the strongest of winds

Found their roofs covered, wondering what their sins

 

Three feet covered is certainly plenty

But four and five feet we think are too many

I take my camera and flashlight to get pictures to show

Walking to their camps through all that deep snow

 

This winter at camp proved better than most

At least we got snow, and more than the coast!

Walking outside and straight up the roof

taking pictures of it all is our proof

 

Paul with MS and that Lupus thing, too

He posed the most threat of living like we do

Though it's good to be stubborn, but know when to stop!

On the bed he'd collapse and down with a plop!

 

Josh being young, he couldn't escape

His chore was to shovel and get into shape

He tended the trash and the pee-potty too

Hauling water as if he worked in a zoo.

 

Lori-Ann and her clumsy, clumsy ways

Would fall or trip no matter which the way.

Soon on the mend from a whiplash and concussion

But all is better and onto another discussion!

 

The snow is so deep, there is no way to walk

Each step taken is considered an obvious balk.

Lightly you tread so you can stay on top

Gently, easy, easy, then sink to a stop

 

A climb to the roof on a path made of snow

The ladder is hidden under all that bright glow

A deep breath taken in awe of the view

If we can handle a winter like this so can you

 

 

 

Ice Fishing 08’

 

As ice fishing came upon, we gathered our goods for wear,

Next we check the safeness of the ice…we timidly want to dare.

The back cove is our first test as that is the route to take

Some three miles out is our ultimate goal, but we’ll go as far as it is safe

 

With Paul’s cane as our measuring stick that easily hooks the bottom of the hole

We wonder if we’ll ever make it out of the &*$% back cove!

Drilling often is what we do to ensure all is well

Checking every 50 feet is the only way to tell!

 

For the channel that we must cross is usually slow to ice.

But once upon the other side, there were rocks worse than ice

Past the rocks and up the channel seemed the best route to take

Now only if our shack could make it without getting stuck upon the lake!

 

Once the shack was at our spot, we anxiously set the traps

It didn’t matter if a flag went up it was fun just sitting in the shack

At times the snow was just too deep so the with the Ranger Paul did plow

A line zigzagging about so traps could be seen without going on the prowl

 

One time the plowed made banks three feet tall

...and I didn’t like the banks for walls!

‘cause it wasn’t just us that could hit that bank

Anyone traveling at night could hit it and go blank

 

One late evening, and time to pick up traps

The sky was black and no time for slack
Paul jumped in the Ranger and crept it along

Leaving is door cracked isn’t how it belonged

 

All of a sudden, he hit his bank wall
And door parts made a wailing call

The snow was deep and dark as could be

We scavenged for parts until we were beat.

 

We searching in the snow up over our knees

Hoping to find the parts, “PLEASE!”

The air was cold and my sputtering froze.

You should have heard our cries and woes!

 

We said no more as Paul tied shut the door

Thankfully we had some rope, though poor.

Once all tied up and the traps in the shack

It was time to Ranger and Snowmobile back

 

Paul reached in his pocket and gasped a big sigh

As a grin crept a cross his face sky high

Like Old Jack Horner, who pulled out a plum

Paul pulled out the missing pieces.  Ho Hum!

 

 

 

Too Cold to Fish

 

At times the air is just too cold to fish

We sit and we ponder and we wish, wish, wish.

Other than the pain of our freezing hands

We cover our ears with thick head bands.

 

The bait in the cooler just under the ice

Think they have it just so nice

Once plucked with a net and ready for the hook

It may as well been stiff as a book!

 

We would cup the bait snug in our hands

While the other would try to hook it through the glands

In the spine, the mouth or the tail

It didn’t matter, the now frozen bait was too frail

 

The winds would whip and cause us to shout

We wonder why we are out and about!

At times my hands were too cold to move

They proved to be useless hooves

 

Our eyes they watered like a leaky faucet

Our faces so cold, it froze the eye droplets

The air so cold that if you dared breathe

Your lungs would wrench you think they bleed.

 

Lungs stinging hot from the cold,

Why oh why are we so bold?

The air hits your lungs and sends you to gasp

You cough so hard you piss through your ass.

 

But it didn’t matter why the tears streamed down.

Even turning to ice as they hit the ground

 

Despite the three feet or more of ice

The shack was too heavy for the ice to suffice

As it sat still, a dimple would form

Over time, moving the shack is typically the norm.

 

The shack is angled very precise

Have it wrong and the wind wasn’t so nice.

Two years ago we went to the shack

And noticed something was out of whack.

 

The closer we got, the more in awe we were

The 70mph winds and stronger they blur

The wind picked up the shack breaking all the ropes

It threw it around 180 degrees without hope.

 

Once at the shack, we were in utter surprise

Everything inside was all a wry.

Nothing was left hanging and all on the floor.

To clean it took two hours or more!

 

But, back to the dimple just for a moment

It’s something we expect with each new season deployment.

We have learned not to drill so close to the shack

‘Cause upward flow would send us wading to back track.

 

At times, we try to test our fate,

By setting a trap before it’s too late

Up the bait came, straight out of the hole

And swam the new stream in an upward roll

 

We laughed and chuckled at the whole action

Grabbing a picture, maybe for an option for auction.

Mostly we fish right up to dusk

Why fish at night when in day we catch cusk?

 

 

 

Spring Fishing

 

April first is the day for fools,

Those who fish, search for their tools.

With the sun bright in the sky it surely enticed

The sun on the streams still covered with solid ice!

 

A fun call to the warden service was one that should be made

Ice fishing is over and stream fishing thoughts invade

How can we fish if we can’t see the water?

The response is, “You can’t” belched with a roar of laughter.

 

A couple weeks passed and I couldn’t wait no more

The stream was about thawed, and fishing never a bore

I donned my gear and fishing pole, too.

On the snowmobile I rode to the stream.  Woo hoo!

 

Once at the stream, the snow was still too deep

To walk was impossible, even to take a leak!

Sticking my pole into the snow

I walked around carefully, wondering which way to go.

 

To get to the stream was heavily drifted with snow

Oh shit”, was what I said as I looked below.

One step off the trail and down I went

Both feet were stuck, I started to vent.

 

Twisting and turning and laying on my back

Finally I was freed from all that snow stack!

While still on my butt, I decided to inch

Thinking downhill would certainly be a cinch.

 

Little did I realize until partway down

How do I do this safe and sound?

Off the dam and out of site

Paul would eventually come to my delight.

 

I told him not to attempt going down the bank

Instead he took one step and sank, sank, sank.

Down he went and onto his butt

Landing softly upon the snow.  What luck!

 

Once at the stream, I stood on a rock

Where to cast safely prompted me to scrutinize a lot.

With a pine tree behind me where I usually sit,

The branch I normally walk under is covered with this snow shit.

 

I delicately stand with my feet crotched in a rock.

With water pouring over the tops of my socks!

Eventually, I creep over the tops of slick ice

Of course they’d collapse, but I was all right.

 

Cast after cast and nothing would bite

“No biggie” I’d say as I thought of my plight.

Glancing up that steep embankment

I wondered if I’ll find a snow cave encampment

 

Paul joked about the drift being 30’ deep

And asked what I’d do if I fell with a leap

I chuckled and laughed and wondered why

I just didn’t fish the other side?

 

My attempts to walk back up that steep, steep slope

Left me quickly with little hope.

I climbed over the limb that I’m used to walking under

I used it for leverage, but heard a loud thunder.

 

The tree was fine and so was I,

But quickly decided that it was a lie.

To get up the slope, I needed two hands

So, with a big swing, my pole uphill would land.

 

Onto my knees, as if I had a choice

My bare hands on the snow, you should’ve heard my voice!

The crust was sharp and hurt my knees

My hands had to break through the crust…without ease!

 

The crust was thick enough to grab, pull and lift

My big ole body, wasn’t so swift.

After a while my hands hurt so I switched to my elbows

Ever do that?  I felt like an old fellow.

 

With my wit and “charm” that isn’t so nice

I got to my pole and I felt for my knife

In my pocket it still was, to lose it wouldn’t suffice.

All in all my pole had to be thrown twice.

 

Once at the top, I crawled to a stop.

Panting and laughing at my ridiculous urge

To fish the stream before the locals surge!

“Let them fish from the top of the dam and get caught”, I thought.

 

 


Piss and Moan Rock

 

Those of you who enjoy fishing in a lake

Will know just from where these stories partake.

Little do those who don’t fish know…

What it’s like when you really have to “go”!

 

After hours of fishing, and hours of sipping,

You realize that your bladder is tipping.

Upon the boat you waddle and sit.

To stand means the urge to “sit”.

 

All those hours of sitting and gritting

Makes you wish you had something for the sitting.

The Luggable-Loo is generally her name,

But, to most she has a “piss-pot” fame.

 

Back at the camp, she sat content,

While out on the boat…and all those hours I spent!

Out in the middle of this huge beautiful lake,

There’s gotta be a way for my relief to take!

 

When you really have to go,

Is when the fishing is too good, you know!

With the Luggable-Loo, I can sit and tend to my pole.

Not like a man, you know that glow!

 

A man can stand up and lean over the edge,

And ahh, the relief that is often said!

A woman?  No, there is no such thing.

Trust me!  I’ve envisioned everything!

 

Short from stripping from my waist on down,

Propping my feet, and hands abound.

My hands they cling to the sides of the boat,

Oh shit!  If I fall…well, hell, I’ll float!

 

I have actually tried that, but just the once.

Never again, or at least not for months!

Up I stood, and it wasn’t so pretty.

My pee it dripped and ran down so giddy!

 

So, here I am, seven hours or more,

Having to pee is quite the chore!

Upon the lake, I spotted a rock!

“There!”  I said without much thought.

 

This end of the lake has no camps in sight.

There are no people, phew!  “Alright!”

Over to the rock and gingerly I step

Onto the granite was where I crept.

 

Oh no!  I have a one piece on,

So, off came the clothes in the tune of a song.

Squat I did, bare naked and all.

This big ol’ woman.  What gall!

 

A couple bobs up and down is all that you need,

To shake the loose droplets so they don't find your knees.

Don't picture my face in such a disgrace,

It doesn't bother me, you're the one in haste!

 

 Remember, when you squat and take that leak,

Always at a slant and you won’t say “eek!”
Most of the time, you want a soft landing.

Splattering is something that’ll send you scanting!

 

My husband, he kept fishing as he drifted away.

The anchor didn’t stay, nor did I sway!

After I got dressed and sighed my relief,

Back he came to get me like an Indian Chief.

 

Now, for those of you who think I’m odd,

I tell you this in honesty and not with fraud.

The things we do to catch a fish.

Just remember, next time, bring the Luggable-Loo dish!

 

The rock, as with everything we do,

Now has a name, just like me and you.

The name given is “Piss & Moan Rock”.

Feel free to use it, the waves they clean it as new as a frock!

 

Now, thinking this was over, I have just one more thought,

For those who think it is wrong to piss on the spot.

Tell me, how many times have you pissed when you swam?

How many times have you pissed when you ran?!

 

So, keep all your environmental thoughts to yourself,

There are places for those upon the shelf.

It's not in the woods, or upon the lake.
Pissing on a rock won't keep me a wake!

 

 

Heels over Head

 

Though the title helps you see,

That heals over head is what I’d be!

Traveling to the shack upon the sleds,

Is something that I never dread?

 

It was after a storm of light fluffy snow,

Little did I realize just how that would go,

In the back cove, all was nice and smooth,

But, out onto the lake and we were the fools!

 

The snowdrifts were plentiful and some seemed sky high,

I couldn’t help but look as I drove on by.

The storm winds blew the winds straight into the sides,

So the banks were nearly flat on the approaching side!

 

Real slow we traveled as we weaved around,

The next thing I knew, my face was almost on the ground!

The sled hit a wall faced drift and made my body go stiff!

My body did slam against the sled, boy what a grip!

 

My hands held tight in order not to fling off,

But my body pressed against the throttle!  I’m off!

The sled it jumped the bank that sent me flying,

While the track spun in the air, there was no time for crying!

 

My feet flung up behind me and seemingly over my head,

As my face, well, I thought I’d be dead.

After the jerking around was totally complete,

My back, it had whiplashed after it left the seat.

 

Luckily, the going was slow out to the ice shack,

But by the time I got there, I realized my bladder went slack!

Yup, I pissed myself as I sprung through the air.

“My pants”, I thought.  “Well, I have wash this pair!”

 

Once at the shack, I told Paul of the trick,

Of my grand handstand upon the throttle stick!

He sighed and wondered how I did such a thing,

His expression was to expect, from me, anything!

 

Back to the camp we went, and phew the going was better,

But, I’m now feeling wetter!

Once at camp, and after I changed my clothes,

I downed some pills expecting to sooth my woes.

Sleep I didn’t and pain there was!

I hurt severely for a month…without pause!

So, watch out for the snowdrifts that take your breath away!

And don’t do tricks, but impress if you may!

 

 

 

Copyright 2008 Willey's Dam Camp