Best Reedy Poems

Somewhere downriver, among thrushes and the swallows,
Ducks in hidden hallows have silky, satin wings 
Among the reedy shallows, swim  ducks in hidden hollows
rest awhile where willows lean, and haloed twilight clings

Summer's been forsaken.  Now the leaves are drifting
A constant current takes them to...

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As I paddled the river Nile
I met a monstrous crocodile. 
She smiled at me enticingly.   
I smiled deferentially.  
Through large white teeth to me she said, 
"I want you in my river bed." 

"We are not acquainted enough
for such intimate, tasteless stuff,"...

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MAYFLY

I’m shadow’s child,
grown on the lake,
by women on their own.
The reedy cattails, 
and brown mud pots, 
occupy my time.
I’m taller now, 
and skinny too,
like some noxious weed.
And in a minute,
with one frail breath,
I’m a woman too.
I’m golden new,
in nodes of light,
my love is truly found!
Our...

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Martin came to a cleft in the rocks
The oriole must have gone this way
It was narrow and curving
A sudden turn, and everything seemed to change.
Shrill, reedy music of pipes filled the heavy air,
A smell of musk of goats and their dung. 
Invisible cicadas sustained the...

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She comes to me when e’er she will,
When starlight sprinkles my windowsill.
When the dew finds rest upon the grass
She taps upon my window glass.

I go outside to be with her,
To share a moment soft and pure,
But she soon glides away down a wooded lane
And I...

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Pondering Castle Ruins At Dusk

I came upon you near to dusk
watching on the final hill
as modern sculpture, graced stone
calm, slumbering, still.

I wandered through the ghostly rooms
sparely traced by tumbled walls
seeking echoes from soft souls
who coloured life into your walls.

I touched your stone with tender hand
seeking...

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Written: December 14, 2023, For Ink Empress Contest
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Sipping from nature's cynosure duct
as yearning subtly for sweetness
quaint wings of golden glass.
lifelong square keenness
barely seen but loved
drifting nearby
reedy bird
held my
sigh
time
sunset
this winter
it feels peaceful
grasping the...

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angst, feelings, immigration, racism, retirement, slam, today,

My Cloud Nine by Didee  ©

Eh, get off of my cloud you silly narrow minded fools
I never put out a ‘for rent sign’ and I make up the rules
My fluffy pure white cloud may leak if it becomes...

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After Derek Walcott’s Poem

We have this in common
Sandy spit
Empty hours to walk alone

Needing to find use
For the forgotten
In the eyes of other people

Washed up
Softens all tones
To sandblasted blue glass

Eyes, drawn out toward sky
The driftwood branch has stars
Or rafts toward uncertain lands

Toward a fire pit nest
where...

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Dragonflies are the jewels of the pond.
Fluttering, they land on dewy kissed leaves,
Colors shimmering reflects in the sun.

Their four wings are always catching the sun,
Inspires thoughts of fairies around the pond.
Little nymphs flitting from flowers to leaves.

Emerald spread wings basking on the leaves.
They're magical creatures...

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Sending the tending to an unfriended ending,
 yet somehow suspending from rending a newly offending recommending.
Logotype monotype linotype,
overripe stereotype,
 teletyped an unripe heliotype. 
Guttersnipe snipe,
 stipe snipe ripe,
 a wipe type a tripe, 
unleash a withering hype. 


Dip snip,
nip lip,
slip skip,
rip the apple pip
over a...

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it is later than late
shadows simmer like a cold heart
the jukebox plays on
drinking and smoking
it is the jester’s time
den of iniquity
everyone here looking for a score
of some kind
danger lurks inside her faded blue eyes
she doesn’t frighten me 
music loud and reedy
a song I don’t know
out...

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the daughter of a miller abducted, exiled, held 
locked as prisoner didst bawl
achingly, effusively, indubitably murmured plaintively 
quite riotously didst call
out for help, when stalked with facing john deere reaper 
with nary a blues clue how to drawl,
a gentle southern twang the heap of straw,...

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I saw that elderly man this Sunday
He says he travels to my town everyday
In his 80s he appears feeble
His reedy bones are seeable
This old chap is thin as a stick
I find him so polite, I call him a brick
He looks like a parched tree without...

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This poem was inspired by the photograph titled, 'Running Legs,' by Lisette Model.


I was an experienced hiker, who had rambled down many famous trails,
Like earth's charming, 365 day tales, of its seasonal, sightseeing avails.

I'd trekked routes in Australia and Tanzania, and also numerous others,
Like a...

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