Best Cattail Poems
Where mountains fade to valley shade
And trees give way to meadow's blade
Cottony cattail, wild lilies teem
Obscuring an enchanted stream
Tis there amongst the grassland rue
This tiny fairy village grew
I will not say just where they stay
And risk perchance they fly away
It was by chance or happenstance
We crashed a friendly fairy dance
We got derailed and left the trail
Looking for some swallowtails
Can you imagine our surprise
Fairies dancing with butterflies
They welcomed us and made a fuss
We danced with them and gained their trust
Our day was done, we'd had our fun
We said "goodbye" thanked every one
Then headed back to find our trail
Took home with us, this fairy tale.
I walk an already trodden path...
Uncertain, of future lives that lie ahead
But, in faith I close these earthly Ojibwa eyes
In trill, thus, I hear the old ways in your presence amidst Chinook winds
As harmonic they play across the plains, from sacred astral pipes
Mimicking cricket songs that echo abstract out of the season's last autumn mist
I also hear your fifes in the rustle of the leaves, rising into writhe
And almost see your spirit aura as it accompanies the Algonquian breeze
Ancient ghost of proud, but now lost upon a dying nation tribe
Your music from beyond is narrations of a mystical language nature speaks
Sweeping thrush calls, chirps through weeping willow weeps,
Unto past September sounds, beating down on war drum clouds, of thundering maelstrom claps
And babbling brooks going on and on until narrowing creaky creeks
Alas, whooper wills warning and morning loons mourning, hidden amidst the swaying grass
When I see you, I imagine spectral legends majestic high across horizon's sky
Snowy silhouettes in headdress, drifting in flowing rainbow crowns
And with the night, I see you in my mind dance as the "Will-Ó-the-wisp" just might
Then, my body shivers from the distance, where your flute imitates the cry of the lone coyote's sound
As for all of your Mishomis (grandfather) traditions, I accept there is a greater essence
Kindred I am, son to your spirit and without partition from an Ojibwa eye
And I stand here staunch in cattail marshes, pondering my place in ancestral questions
Now, your answers again begin to play upon the wind, but this time traveling through the November... Whispers on needles of the pine
I walk an already trodden path...
But, each new step before me keeps this culture alive...
Written in honor of my Chippewa family ©2012 Michael G. Smith
As a warm summer breeze
magically floats atop waves
a child's laugh can be heard
clearly a short distance away.
With eyes like almonds
glowing bright as a moon
a boy is dotted with sand
when he hears a song from a loon.
Amongst pebbles and shells
thin strands of cattail weeds
he dips a toe in the ocean
squealing out with sheer glee.
He is joyful and innocent
hair a mop of golden curls
his shirt stained in patterns
of sand and water swirls.
As waves begin swelling
while the sun slowly dims
the boy with no sight
sports the most beautiful grin.
His daddy gently messes
hair a mop of golden curls
the boy reaches pudgy fingers
his daddy tenderly unfurls.
As the boy and his daddy
walk happily in the sand
the boy feels his strength
in his loving daddy's hand.
reworked 08-09-2016
On the gurgling remains of Winter
as she seeps back into the earth
on a path around a lake
flanked by the casualties of winter's breath
cattails...
brown and bent with broken heads
backs turned to the pale yellow corn stock stubble
standing in mud clad fields
that lie beneath scattered hints of green
where a red barn and silo stand in wait
A gentle breeze... a ripple on the lake
cattail fluff floating in the air
a symphony composed by songbirds and frogs
drifts across the land and bubbling streams
that cut across the path
Moss lies abreast the thin skin of winter
still remaining in places
where the sun never shines
A blanket of burnt amber needles
and prickly cones
lie beneath a dark green canopy of pines
impaled by glinting spears of sunlight
where the path...for a momeent...is lost
Thump...thump...thump.. the beat of leather souls
on wooden planks over the marshlands...
The lake erupts in torrents of water tendrils
falling from the wings
slapping the face of the lake
as geese take to the sky...
And beyond the forest of pines...
the oaks and maples
display their new burgundy buds
and the few remaining
leaves of Autumn...
all crinkled and curled
still clinging to the past
on a well-worn path
that circles around a lake
with no beginning and no end
where the seasons come and go...
as do... I.
Written: April 30, 2018
Author: Elaine Cecelia George
Pale and fair, she will sit awhile
She's a fragile lily, but not a child
who climbs across the wooden stile
to seek her private solitude
The willow pond, is her second home
She'll while away these lonely hours
with dragonflies, and buttercups,
mossy stones, and fragrant flowers
She picks bouquets of hufflewinks
of yellow, blue, and blushing pink
Then adds a cattail to the mix
with baby's breath, and bright tulips
Deep in her magic dreamer's trance
Pretending that there is a prince
who'll save her from a Dragon's wrath
He'll sweep her up and steal a kiss
together they will ride in bliss
Trees sway and swoon along the bank
Reminding her of restless winds
and that love is fleeting as a breeze
Trees lose their leaves, and dreams will fade
She listens, for the sound of hoofs
O'er twig and stone, her eyes are keen
Yet, not a prince, nor stead is seen
Where tangled grass and willows lean
As if a lily, but not the child
who seeks her private solitude
She comes to dream a little while
then climbs across the wooden stile
to leave the dream among the fronds
at the quiet Willow Pond
_____________________________________________
6/4/18
Dragons, Dragonflies, And Huffle-Winks Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
My lotus flower, adrift on the water bed,
Your petals top the pond,
Lilies, Irises, Hyacinths.
The sun reminisces,
And the moon grieves,
For in the dark of night,
It hides your leaves.
I weed your sodden garden,
Cattail, Waterthymes, Reeds.
My lotus you're safe,
I know your needs.
The scabs from the tear,
Haunts your fragile stem,
Faint, pink lines like those of your petals,
Shine like a gem.
My lotus I trace along those lines,
And your hesitance remains,
My lotus, I say,
"I know not the hurricane,
That caused your injury,
Nor the pain of how it felt,
But I know the misery,
And the doubt."
My lotus, I hold your leaves,
"Your weeds grow back,
But I will still stay,
Your stem dries,
And I will water you everyday,"
My lotus, I caress your greenery,
"Your flowers have bloomed,
In the harshest of weather,
But now you know sunlight,
And I'll make sure it's forever."
~
While strolling by the lavender
her smile kept its place,
as lovely as a butterfly
afloat upon her face
She skipped as to a melody
that played about her mind,
in harmony with springtime days
she always seemed to find
With hair a flow of summer breeze,
spun gold and woven vine,
like Chardonnay from Maconnais,
a tasteful choice in wine
Beyond the field, neath skies of blue,
a' glisten in the sun,
a dainty pond, its cattail fern,
her tiny feet did run
She gazed upon the surface smooth,
reflecting clouds above
and tossed a stone, a splash was heard,
then ripples, she did love
For long ago a poet passed
and with his feathered pen,
had written her a verse of love,
then placed it in her hand
She read it with her eyes so wide,
his joy, she could not miss
Then laid her hand upon his cheek
and on his lips, a kiss
The poem he had written spoke
of ripples and a shore
and if the circles he could be,
he'd kiss her there once more
She turned to leave, her heart now full
of dreams he left behind,
with poetry and memories,
like ripples on her mind
~
This poem was inspired by me, not at the start but, it ended up referencing a poem that I wrote about 10 years ago titled: "And you were that shore" that I posted here on Soup for a contest and actually won.
This is that poem
And you were that shore
~
You were skipping stones
and as I watched
a slowly arching ripple
gently kissing the shore
I found myself wishing
I was that ripple
and you were that shore
~
crystal ice soldiers
frozen cattail brigade
guarding sugar lake
Tiny little birds perched on cattail stems
Enjoy the swings gentle breeze brings them
I aim my phone for a picture
Off they fly, irked at the gesture
Pardon me birdies, for creating mayhem
Written : 07/17/2016
Contest:"One Stanza-One Only" by Broken Wings
This young pawn was homeless and exhausted.
Sleeping in an overgrown city lot.
A flat piece of cardboard for a bed.
Cattail and wildflower walls.
A ceiling of blueish gray.
Slow roasting over a fiery dream.
This Pawn turned into a whispering rose.
Right there on that cardboard bed...
but only when the restless mind
gave its soul to sleep and time.
Afterthought:
***** thing, this king of circumstance.
With crown of mist and robes of black.
Comedic cascade of karmic darts.
That morph into queen Ann's lace and metal meadowlark.
Time will never turn its bow to yesterday,
but will spin the stars into the murky miracle of decay.
This Pawn cleansed the soul of self.
Whisked away the briar.
Left its humble drool upon
the toothless mouth of yesterday....
and wore the crown if only for a day.
a red winged blackbird
barked a sermon
from a cattail pulpit
Ripples flow across the lake
A profusion of serpents swimming
Wriggling from shore to shore
Skimming stone takes four hops
causing rings to widen
Circles created by the hand of man
kerplunk, splish and splash
Dragonfly perched on a cattail
flitting its wings in the air
making shadows that look like lace
Sunlight highlights them like prisms
sparkling in the peak of twilight
A frog jumps from a driftwood stump
half submerged among duckweed
Swirls of undulating wavelets
Wind driven movements
Riffling the surface
catch my eye
expanding ripples displayed
ripples across the lake
Through the woods I carefully tread
Darkness surrounds and fills with dread
Silent clouds obscure the moon
Briefly break and lift the gloom
A clearing darkness once concealed
Parting clouds have now revealed
As I draw ever slowly near
The scene, obscured, becomes more clear
In the meadow two giant oak
Loom over trees of shorter folk
Dead leaves rattle on gnarled branches
And on the ground, hide where the path is
A darkened pool beneath the trees
Ripples in the Autumn breeze
Cattail gather at the shore
Insects buzz and chirp and roar
As I step into the clearing
Sudden quiet greets my hearing
There beyond the pond, a shack
Light shines out from every crack
Branches woven into walls
Over which some ivy crawls
An old woman, a crone, a hag
Dressed in clothes of tattered rag
Stands beside her ramshackle home
In her hands a mysterious tome
She beckons to me, calls me near
Moving feet I can't stop or steer
Greenish skin and bedraggled hair
Pointy hat and an evil stare
Hands like claws open the battered book
From which she reads without a look
What she said I shan't repeat
But my heart did skip a beat
What happened next I can't recall
It was a dream, that's all!
So I climbed out of my bed
And from my foot, a leaf was shed.
While strolling on this summer morn so fair
with warming sun rays soft upon my cheeks
and gentle breezes blowing through my hair,
a tender dulcet day without a care,
I deeply ponder thoughts to which life speaks.
A red-winged blackbird floats along the breeze
and lights upon a cattail by the lake;
his trills lamenting sights for which he pleas,
pollution everywhere is all he sees.
I wonder if mankind will e’er awake?
A bullfrog sitting by the water’s edge
upon a lily pad, he croaks his tune
lamenting all around the withered sedge
that’s littered with debris his croaks allege.
I wonder if mankind will wise up soon?
For it is we who, through our careless deeds,
have scarred the beauty of this precious land
to satisfy our selfish greedy needs
without a single thought to where this leads,
intents upon fulfilling our demands.
But are we not the keepers of this earth,
the ones who, nature’s beauty, must preserve
for future generations, giving birth
to Mother Nature’s everlasting worth?
If not then we will get what we deserve.
June 26, 2023
Thoughts of you
Shades of maple, shades of elm,
along a winding wishing stream
Of lily pad and cattail smiles
a’ glistening in rippled gleam
So soft the grass upon the hill,
where bluebirds sing their melodies
Harmonically with skies of blue
in perfect midday symphonies
It’s here amidst the air so free
I take this lazy afternoon
To think about the one I love
where precious wildflowers bloom
For this you see is what I dream,
someday the two of us shall share
Watching clouds across the sky,
spending time with little care
Seeing butterflies at play
as branches flow in whispered dance
Shadows tickling the ground
alone within a sweet romance
Until that time does come to pass,
desired dreams have all come true
Among this beauty I will rest,
lost within my thoughts of you