Best Cygnet Poems
The wind moves
It moves in many ways
How it moves
Like exotic scents of purple lavender
wafting 'neath a harvest sun
and the rise of sour yeast
inside a fresh baked currant bun
It moves like a vernal tea-rose
pollinated by wild bees
in forging threesome
or wood-trush wings
rustled through leaves
in a symphonic rainfall season
It moves like the early breath
of a newly hatched cygnet
It moves mysteriously
like a spinning moon
orbiting my little world
Like descending mist
veiling pearled dawn's birth
The wind moves
It moves in many ways
Like a half -bare shoulder
slipping through your embrace
Like starlit kisses
upon the melanchonic lines of your face
The wind moves
The wind moves in many ways
How it moves
Just like us
Just like me
Just like you
I was born one day with the glistening sun.
Mom says I am her baby and I have a name;
One of twelve called Cygnet born amongst leaves,
Dad has taught me how to swim and in two days I could.
I am not much to look at right now,
But one day I will be a majestic trumpeter swan;
With white elegant plumage, powerful and graceful,
All day we drift on a slow, undisturbed wetland marsh.
Mom and Dad showed me how to submerge.
I love to eat underwater plants and small fish;
Life so far has been peaceful but one day I will fly.
I weep when I think of leaving my beloved swan family;
Silently we float along in harmony and love,
But I am just a little baby dreaming in the nest;
Just a baby who loves his truly beautiful Mom and Dad.
Oh, and I love my siblings too and the other drifting swans.
_______________________
May 9, 2015
Poetry/Personification/I am a Swan
Copyright Protected, ID 05-671-642-09
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Swan meaning - true beauty, power of self, love, grace
Written for the Standard contest, Picture Yourself a Bird,
sponsor, Andrea Dietrich, Judged 2015
Fifth Place
Submerged in thought, my mind flows.
I'm a majestic river
with all it's curves and bends
running over rocks 'round obstructions
gathering strength and speed.
Above I catch a glimpse of the sun
shimmering off the eye of young cygnet
so white and pure without commitment
calm, loving and carefree
looking to soak up all my nutrients.
to be young once again
with a new chance at love
no fear of what lies beneath the surface.
Making memories forgetting fantasies.
Here I sit lost in thought
about life and love
trials and pain
blessings and destinies.
Submersed in thought, my mind flows.
I'm a majestic river
with all it's curves and bends
running over rocks and around obstructions
gathering strength and speed.
Above I catch a glimpse of the sun
shimmering off the eye of a young cygnet
So white and so pure without commitment
calm, loving and carefree
looking to soak up all my nutrients.
Oh to be young once again
with a new chance at love
no fear of what lies beneath the surface.
Making memories forgetting fantasies.
Here I sit lost in thought
about life and love
trials and pain
blessings and destiny
1.
My grapefruit tanned
toothpicks
bow above
the five-day flattened
spot
in an olive shag carpet
tracing grandpa Leo's
blueprint,
with one encapsulated
toe –
this is the femur, this is
the head,
this is the fist, the ring
finger, the soul.
I search for any blunt
white quivering slivers
of Caroline's purported
fly fetuses.
2.
Huddling behind the
corpse
of an old hospital bed,
a framed photo
smoke browned and
wearing my toddler face,
watches
his children choke
hushed, broken
sentences
this will be yours, my
plate, separate the
holiday china…
an enigmatic language
that hovers in
smoke stretched rings
to wilt
upon the hallway
bulb.
3.
I am left
the ceramic cygnet,
and an ivory carved
dromedary.
These artifacts
plucked
from his porcelain
menagerie
that I decipher
through dust fingerprints
for
one small inheritance of
a memory.
4.
Tomorrow,
Aunt Rose
puts price
to his bibelots,
the olive shag carpet,
even cousin Amy's
plastic horse,
who was accidentally
left to pasture on an
afghan.
A silver plated glass cage
image of her past,
she says she will whittle
all of him,
from the
wooden
house
bones.
Incertitude
Who am I...?
Am I the first born son, emanating from a fire of passion?
Am I the long lost hope, rekindled, ravenous in the eyes of my forebears?
Am I the caressed cocoon, spun out of love and compassion?
Whose silken threads, entice and embellish the vain vanity of its wanton wearers?
Am I a prodding prodigy,
Aimed at excelling in every sphere ?
Am I, a porous sponge, meant to absorb every single human emotion, a mortal can bear?
Am I a doted upon enduring exemplar or a doomed ephemeral effigy?
Am I the mellow and musky mist, exuding from a bare bosom?
Am I the naive, reticent lover, imperfect, yet dearest to my beloved?
Am I the longing in her eyes, a hypnotic hum?
Am I mere an object of desire- usurped, used, seduced, shoved?
Would I be another mere mortal among the countless thriving throng?
Lashed by grief, aged by time, thwarted by fear and smitten by love?
Would I be a forgotten fable or a perennial song?
Would I be remembered as -
A peacock- proud of its plumage,
An Owl- sombre yet subtle , of a lettered lineage,
A nightingale-serenading a song touching the core ,
A mystic bird from an ancient lore,
or , a dove – cygnet soft , gentle sitting on an alcove?
Oh Time! Tarry! A little,
Before I transcend from this world to the other,
Hark ! I plead, solve this riddle.
Oh Wind! Carry away my doubts to the omniscient;
Rush against all odds, be it a mighty mountain or a rampant ridge.
Time is running, I dread to lose myself in this mystic maze,
Oh Almighty! Accept my venerations to you my liege,
Enlighten me , before my mortal remains is set ablaze.
-Saptarshi Mukherjee
I am blue,
So very blue.
Maybe, I am literally blue,
Like that unhappy little Smurf.
I want to have some real friends.
He is red,
So very red.
Maybe, he is literally red,
Like that anger-reddened dragon.
He needs to learn to listen a bit.
She is white,
So very white.
Maybe, she is literally white,
Like that poor frightened cygnet.
She needs to learn to talk a bit.
Hold on a minute, we can all become best friends!
We could definitely bring our grudges to their ends.
My blueness blends well with your redness, mister.
My blueness blends well with your whiteness, miss.
We would become colorful like them rainbows later!
We could help each other and then all be in a bliss!
Our souls have different colors for each individual,
We must learn to appreciate them; it's always vital.
i am a Close relative of the goose and duck.
You’ll find me protected, respected like royalty,
halos ripple around me, Gently gliding wings outstretched in a breeze,
loyal, I mate for life - no two Necks here, just us whoopers forever,
atop feathers for a pillow our clutches nestle, Envelope, warmed by us,
whether svan or schwan, we’re pen and cob To our cygnets and swanlings.
Mom's
bosom,
milky pond,
nest, where divine
twin swans, with warm cozy wings, count twinkling
stars till cygnets return from deadly zones.
Behold, how swans
swell their wings
to warm
son.
(Syllable count: 1/2/3/4/5 – 5/4/3/2/1, howmanysyllables.com)
*A 1st Place* in the following contest (judged on Feb. 28, 2021)
Feb. 19, 2021
Double Tetractys 7 Poetry Contest
Contest sponsor: Eve Roper
la lumière dans tes yeux respire la beauté
so elegant the cygnet glides
a glass top glint speaking out
a call to day, here shadows lay
in the depths of a morning glow
and as rich pine treetops sway
the thrill of a nightingale shrills
beauty still rests before my eye
absorbed, my passions beat
attracted to a scent of yearn
inhaled, with her bosom held
1
Bravo for their workless piece,
Men with fastened coats can burnish
Poets of the early earth;
whisper lyrics on their breath,
And the child that has had no birth,
smells odour from his working nose
2
Roam the worlds; the worlds of my mind,
On earth's cold ground, I am as blind as he,
The birds sang songs when children were children,
Four candid souls,
for a candid solution
The boundaries of a single circle;
life or death
stings its mark upon her breast
3
Life has evaded; and I'm alone like the other,
But not like a tree; I have no wish to wish upon death
Though it will surely come;
The birds will fly when dark clouds fall,
And to heaven they shall take me,
Overlapping, like the berries on a branch,
The cygnet floats, like big black boats
And men with fastened coats,
Whose poems should they keep away?
Poems for the poor - behind many in the lunch line.
Delighted by birds’ coloring books
Awed with stories on biblical fowls of the air…
There’s my special child, unperturbed
Eyes glued to a science book he’s trying to comprehend.
In a guessing game,
He’s asked: “What birds are these?
Identify using these clues:
Indeed faithful to mate for life;
male is called a cob,
female partner’s name is pen;
they have a baby cygnet...
As God’s creatures,
they are highly intelligent
and remember who has been kind to them.”
Suddenly... “Swans,” he shouted with glee
Midst his spastic flapping gestures.
In exhilarating triumph
we all bask in his lingering swan-chorus:
"Who made all the swans so beautiful...
God* in heaven above."
*Isaiah 43:15 I am the LORD, your Holy One, the creator..., your King.
April 17, 2019
9th place, "Suddenly Swans" Premier Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Maureen McGreavy; judged on 4/26/2019.
Canal channel calm
Calm swan route rowed
Rowed with your oars
Oars of square shoulders
Shoulders I sheltered beneath
Beneath your wings afloat
Afloat on luxe lake
Lake made me safe
Safe with your sage
Sage directed my passage
Passage protected
Protected from the ocean
Ocean of troubled tumult
Tumult groomed off my coat
Coat you fitted with new buttons
Buttons you held
Held securely together
Together we travesed
Traversed rivers flowing
Flowing patiently
Patiently picking me up
Picking up my supplies
Supplied my fantasy
My fantasy you strove
Strove to give
Give without hesitation
Without you I'm xeric
Xeric forlorn flimsy
Flimsy as a fledgling
As a cygnet in the surf, helpless
Helpless, hapless in danger
Danger eradicated
Exchanged for feathered heaven
Feathered my fall each time
Time I took from you, mine
Mine to entwine your vigor
Vigor towards your growth
Towards seperate ideals
Ideal provision
Provided constant care
Care dealt with no cost
Cost feeble offspring pressure
Pressure pulling on your wings
Wings lifted stretched out of reach
Reach their own potential
Potential to strengthen
Strengthen our bond
Bond of production
Producing competence
Competent, unburdened
16th January
Degrees of Separation
- for Jameille -
Bashing and defacing articulate less
when we are proficient to express
As a cygnet being assailed by a heron
we remain quite emotionally barren
We leave our nest never to return to it
aghast if we didn't could might be bit
Pursuing rations in the unknown colossal
hoping to be saved by an alarmed apostle
We'll grow to be a majestic radiant pawn
charge wherein uncharted territory dawn
Astute to achieve amplitude for to appease
while bodies bend to worthy on our knees
Orphaned by the distant wind
as darkness bathes the dawn
My wings have flown beyond my sight
to catch the cygnet swan
A brother to the foreign soil
lost father to the man
Hearing wisps of memories past
old promises remand
Alone upon a falling sea
in depths my heart bemoans
The water cold inside my veins
fresh images I’m shown…
To raise my spirit from its sleep
and chase the light above
The night relinquishes its grip
and frees the mourning dove
Returning messages of hope
to course before the sun
That shines upon my reclaimed self
—my flight at last begun
(Dreamsleep: June, 2022)