Best Marsh Poems
I don't need mawkish photographs to see
the drowning rowboat tethered to the dock,
a withered seahorse clinging to debris
as umber water seeps through feeble caulk.
The cord grass will have grown up through the planks
to marry splinters teeming on the pier,
putrescent pillars tilted by the banks;
a pallid corpse beside the marsh's bier.
Those summers when we sailed through brackish mist
have long since gone the way of floating sculls
that languish in the asters to be kissed
by empty oarlocks perched atop their hulls.
Your August ghost still flounders on the fen
then sinks beneath in nightmares now as then.
Only the cold crunching
of the fresh snow bunching,
and the tired leather boots
as I take that first step
Can be heard right here
by no other frozen ear,
for away I rushed off
to find silence instead
And all that is harsh
exists not on this marsh,
where the only prying eyes
belong to birds and deer
The moment I did hesitate
to glide along my skate,
a winter wind whistled
tugging my scarf forward
Been years since I tried
the child in me never died,
and once you learn how
you cannot ever forget
And being scared of a fall
takes the fun from it all,
while on this solemn pond
where all worries flee
Staying sure on these feet
when blade and ice meet,
kept me on my toes as
all went spinning around
Until the colors of sunset
made the trees silhouette,
and brought back to me
a world gone miles away
Leaving not a solitary trace
of my presence at this place,
I untied those tight bindings
and took in a deep breath
A memory etched in my mind
just the figures left behind,
and if the sun erases them
I can always come back....
(January 14th, 2020)
The male Hine’s Emerald patrols his cattail fen
low through sedge and seepage
his compound eyes pluck gnats from the air
two yellow bars flash along his thorax
hindwings catch the morning
Chimanimani Mountain mist beads over quartz
the female Rock Threadtail
six black feet braced on the edge
her wing tilted toward the sun
eyes—black
He misses the gnat
darts, veers, halts midair, pivots
his ommatidia fixed on her raised wing
smitten, his heading shifts
the female Rock Threadtail rests above her stream
=======
cattails winnow-
mirth abandons Red Winged Blackbirds
-inspired by Brian Strand's poetry
Out of the vast marsh
plaintive grey curlew calling -
my sister scolding me.
Pussy Willows
Among the wild cattails marsh,
Wetlands mire and morass harsh,
Pussy Willow buds appear
In warm grey fur chase off winter’s jeers.
Close to streams they sink deep roots
Laps up milk of streamlet’s fruits
Vernal purr of perfection
Sacred siren of Resurrection.
2-8-22
Contest: A Poem Crafted In the Various Lind30 by Robert Lindley
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Syllable count 7779. According to Robert Lindley poem can be rhymed or unrhymed.
marsh
hear the rattle of the clapper rail
buffer of strong seas
grassy refuge of the great egret
wetlands
Waking up, I was blinded by the radiant, yellow sun rays;
I witnessed with awe a splendid sunrise
rising over a field of marsh marigolds...
more astonished than a true believer, I praised Him twice!
wetlands contains life
tiny creatures scurry around
hawks circle overhead
Wind kisses marsh trees
Cattail fairies dance on winds
Fly to find new home.
(January 12, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved,
I sit in my car on an old bridge painted white.
the stream passes under as I wait for the light
an old turtle suns itself on a rock near the bank
this turtle is my touchstone if I may be so frank
when ever I cross this bridge he is always there
looking stoic unencumbered and without a care
as ducks circle the thrown of this little marsh king
the stream flows the day wanes he wants not a thing
he hardly moves at all with his nose high in the air
there’s a smile on that face with the know it all stare
on occasion as I happen to be waiting for the light
I turn to find him looking right at me what a sight
what a strange feeling it’s like he’s in my head
telling me to take care ease up or I’ll drop dead
I realize that life has a rhythm but we set the pace
life is for living and it doesn’t have to be a race
My parents moved recently–
a nice place, marsh view,
plenty of trees and walking trails
a nice big kitchen for Scottish breakfasts.
Their deck upstairs looks out
on the marsh water shining in the sun.
The aquatic landscape broken only
by the stilted legs of hungry herons.
The floorboards no longer creak
beneath my ocher footsteps
and I feel like a visitor here–tourist
Then I wonder, how much of myself
was left in those creaking planks?
How much of my life is threaded
in their wooden veins?
Perhaps this new deck doesn’t creak
only because I’ve shed the weight
of my childhood, the cloak
of memory–disrobed and I am refreshed
like new bamboo shoots in spring.
There's a party down at the marsh,
amongst all the wild amphibians,
Theresa toad croaking alongside her tadpoles,
all one thousand and one of them,
Carla the crayfish catering all the food,
all of the partygoers in a festive mood,
the dragonflies doing their aerial light show,
getting much applause, they take a bow,
The crayfish band playing like mamba kings,
while the tadpoles do their synchronized swim,
even Rocky the raccoon stepping on in,
spinning round and round doing the swing,
While Sally the salamander does the mamba marsh dance,
Lenny the Lizard was looking for romance,
dancing all night with her in the marshy swamp,
watching out for gators and their big toothy chomp,
Till Sammy the snake cop slithered on in,
about to tell them to stop disturbing the peace,
instead he started slithering and grinning all on a whim,
hissing along to the the crayfish mamba kings beat.
11-11-16
Collaboration with Mike Hauser
In the knife-edged saw grass
a fawn high-steps behind
his mother's tail
With an eerie whoop,
a rusty- winged chicken
warns them away from
his purloined roost
Renegade rooster on the lamb,
flapping his wings until feathers
fly like snowflakes - he caroms
from branch to bush
His chicken brain unaware
that deer do not climb trees
When the curious doe stands up
to sniff the errant rooster,
madness erupts
Flitting down to peck the doe,
the rooster becomes a flurry of frenzy
Weary of this turbulent fowl,
the doe ambles away, fawn right behind
Lichen clings to a fallen log
making a nursery for mushrooms
and surly frogs
Dark copper half-light speckles
the dense wet cushion of marshy forest
Wild nasturtiums are a lush bed of color
Echoes demand answer that never come
Though the slender reeds take in
deep breaths, they cannot exhale
Beauty unencumbered flourishes
across the stile that no one crosses anymore
Cattails, sedges, papyrus, sawgrass
Fish waterfowl soundless salamanders
In soft wet interface of water and earth
Reclines the orbit of Marsh