New Boundary Waters Poems

New Boundary Waters Poems

Photos by our canoe trip Guides, Tim Barton, James Ehlers and Nick Jones.

Into the Sun

Summer days roll on
under the canoes.
We push against the hours
trying to
hold back the colors
through the veil of green.

Paddles turning us
into the wind
but unable to stem the tide.
Lily pad flags lift.
Loons echo against the liquid
shifting surface.

You can feel it in the earliest
hours of morning.
This change, this

©Timothy James Stouffer #elystreetpoet
All Rights Reserved 08252023

Photo Tim Barton @timyb11

Things are looking up.

Tall reach the trees

Small we feel on stone

older than old.

Sun catches campfire smoke

and rides breezes through

the canopy.

There’s plenty to do

but just being.

Being here.

Is enough.

©Timothy James Stouffer #elystreetpoet
All Rights Reserved 08232023

Photo James Ehlers

Breaking Camp on a Monday

It’s hard to move
not just from this campsite
but to force my new self to
disturb this view;
to contemplate rippling this lake
altering the masterpiece
painted on its surface.
It is hard to imagine
us in the car
driving home.
I’m not sure I want to remember
or experience the concept of
traffic on a concrete river.

This place is worth another
hour of being part of in silence.

Maybe I could just call in sick
for the rest of the week?

©Timothy James Stouffer #elystreetpoet 07312023 All Rights Reserved

Photo by Tim Barton @timyb11


In the evening
or at dawn
from camp –
from my second home –
I like this view the best.
When silhouetted trees
and rocks
and even
the echoes of loons across the water
demand that I
fill in the blanks.
The colors are mine to make,
the choices though are
only waiting for the arrival
of the sun.

Or, if it is the evening already
the dreams are woven;
the shuttle on the loom has gone to sleep,
the shadows will disappear
and the dark
topiaries will begin the dance.

In the campfire flames
the old songs will begin to sing.

©Timothy James Stouffer 07 18 2023 #elystreetpoet
All Rights Reserved

Photo by James Ehlers

Boundary Waters

This tree leaning over
the water,
this canoe ready to
dance with the constellations reflected
on the mirrored surface of
Whiskey Jack,
Wooden Leg,
No Sleep.
Lucky Finn,
or Neglige.
Trease, Howl, Homer
and Tin Can Mike.
Even the names read like they
were fished from the pages of a
mystery novel.

These flames searching for the cracks
in my soul, imploring me to stay
another day, to reach another
lake. Navigate by the stars at night,
learn to read the maps
left by the first to ever hold a paddle.

To write on my own blank page.

And some people call this camping…

©Timothy James Stouffer #elystreetpoet 07162023
All Rights Reserved
photo @vnick763 Nick Jones

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