Bulrushes Poems | Examples

The Dream of a Rill

The Dream of a Rill

Up in the highlands a leafy green dell
where day dreamers dream in the quiet still
blissfully dreaming beneath nature’s spell.
Where clusters of daisies cover the hill
and soft sighing zephyrs sway the blue bell 
slow dancing in time by a bubbling rill 
The rill herself is a wandering stream
And she, like the dreamers, has her own dream


She’ll leave the green dell, and finally flow
beneath the old bridge where children do wade
bypass the tall pines in long serried row
all standing up straight, like scouts on parade
Then winding through banks where the bulrushes grow
mid marsh marigolds that bloom in the shade
She’ll meet with her fate, a strong river free
And join its bold rush to greet the wide sea.

The Humpback Hills

The rolling humpback hills. 

Fade off into the horizon.

Giving the illusions of vast herds of buffalos. 

Roaming and grazing peacefully across the sun lite plains, 

Over fertile fields of wheat and wild grasses stretching into native lakes, 

surrounded by tall-growing bulrushes, And cattails gracefully arching 

Into magical gateways, with every gentle breeze, your  imagination 

goes on a journey with mother nature.

Holding hands with the flowing rivers

and with carpets of moss flirting with the edge of the banks

And dancing daffodils that bend and sway, 

over the grassy hills and dales. 

With orange, yellow, and apricot skirts swirling around 

in the summer breeze.

Your Eyes Are Like Magic Marbles

Your Eyes Are Like Magic Marbles

Your eyes are like magic marbles 
made of blue sky madness,
they draw my sharpest senses inward
rendering me helpless to your red devouring lips,
which pucker with a blinding instinctive intensity, 
as with silent snakes seeking a cooler ground, 
hidden inside a hotbed of conniving bulrushes;
your perfumed presence bringing out deliriously
a powerful draw upon my protruding screaming loins,
as if you had stolen my lapping eyes and tongue unseen,
rendering them completely to the burgeoning sky beast,
that now swoops down with grasping talons of arousal;
as you sprawl before me with plumes of mad impulse;
we lie naked, moist and spent; two lovers embracing,
forgetting about time and trouble as living human beings.
Your eyes are like magic marbles.

Nihil Obstat

Nihil Obstat


What is this wave of floating currents,
Which enter the dark side streets 
Like far-reaching rubbery tentacles?
It is your resigned reach for something 
Infinitely beyond the staid and the shrill;
Your grasping of one moment in flexing time, 
Your attempt to save a universe out of whack,
By donning your costume made of plastic fire,
With flashing sun medals signifying eminence.
What is this jaundiced atmosphere I inwardly sense 
Within skinned temples made of bitter cortex,
Here in the bulrushes, wearing a feathered cap?
It is the silent pulse of a forest lacking an audible voice, 
A meadow with green eyes that scratch the skies,
Looking to erode for all-time the blindness of hate.

Exalting Nature

Nature nurtures blooms and blushes
With redbirds, bluebonnets, and bulrushes
And peacock-curtained cirrus evening skies;
That unveil a Milky seine before our eyes,
Alluring our awed admiration
With magnetic, majestic fascination;
Easily eliciting an emancipation
To unparalleled faux freedom;
Fostering fleet-flying feelings;
Sending stunned senses soaring
Inevitably inducing intoxication
Which connects our inebriated emotions
That persuade our treasured, deeply hidden internals
Into exaltation of the high supernal.

"for contest FINETUNE THIS COLLABORATION sponsored by Line Gauthier".

Fishing With My Father

By the bulrushes,
Where darting blue dragonflies
Flit like neon sparks,    
Hover flies pause and patrol,
In the drunken summers haze,
We sat fishing by the lake.

Red-Winged Blackbird

Red-winged Blackbird

Look! There in the bulrushes,
Perched at an angle
To the reed,
Is the Red-winged Blackbird,
Keeping a close watch
In his territory.

How do I know it’s a “he”? Easy.
By the jet black plumage
And red, yellow epaulettes
That distinguish him from a “she”.
The female’s feathers are rustic colours
With white patches underneath
And white streaks on the back and wings,
That blend in with the surroundings.

See! I spot her sitting in the nest,
All snuggled in
Keeping her eggs warm.
Quiet,—not moving;
Not wanting anyone
To know where she is.

Listen! And hear his three syllable
‘Oh-ka-leee’cry piercing the air,
Can only mean one thing to his mate;
Love! And he will be there for her.

Slowly, I back away
Not wanting to create
A disturbance,
Or cause undue stress;
For the birds.

Before the Echo of Raindrops

The night sky reveals in a split second of light.
My mind often wonders at its scintilla sight.

Like a paparazzi camera in the dark bushes
and a floating papyrus-basket amidst bulrushes.

I’m drawn to the laser show of lightning.
Oh how it entertains, sinister and frightening!

Vertical to tall trees and slow-highway-motion.
The stranger never goes unnoticed with its commotion.

The eclectic zigzag, like a serrated knife
carving the melon of the sky with strife.

Dark pregnant clouds partner with danger 
— a calm cradle’s serenity rearranger.

Bring it on, with all the players on the stage,
procuring pale and ghostly figures with all their rage.

2/17/2018

Describe a thunderstorm without the sense of sound/Brenda Chiri

The Blog Wars

the blog wars

hiding beneath and behind
the tufted heads of the nine tailed cats
awaiting the unsuspected entry
of inane innocence at large

devious despoilers – these demons
perfections faulted protectors
exacting a price they cannot pay
holding an ideal as a weapon

denying the truth of a single beauty
because it stands among so many
mocking the buds of beauty’s quest
as inept imposters to the throne

sticking the thorns of jealous roses
into the hearts of blooming daisies
hiding in the bulrushes of ego’s
self inflating fallacy

yet still intruders crash the gates
bold interlopers plodding onward
toiling in the trenches of a dream
unfazed by guardians failing scheme


John G. Lawless
10/12/2015

submitted to – Best October Poem – Poetry Contest
sponsor – SKAT A

Morning

The moon is slowly vanquished by the rising sun
The dawn of new day has began
Soon to school the children will run
The soul is enlighten by view of the garden and sun shining like a beacon

The day wins over night
In the morning light
On azure lake swans dazzle with delight
The magnificence of by sun kissed mountains is an awesome sight

The nearby golden grain field sways in early summer breeze
In the hive there is sound of bees
The bulrushes murmur remembering with ease
The old ballad where ancient Gods would do what they would please

The Fair Girl and the Black Egret

In a river marsh, where pondweeds and cattails grew in warm clime,
the fair girl found a tall, black egret  
with whom she could have a chat; 
and was it the same one that her parents rescued from the wild?


Among bulrushes taller than she actually was,
the anxious girl told that bird one of her wishes:
to hop on his back and fly as the happiest butterfly,
and find her mom whom she remembered singing a lullaby.

" Take me to my mom!"  she begged the wading bird.
" Nobody ever takes me there to visit her" she exclaimed.
" She may be miles away from here...way past the blue ocean!" 
He replied with little confidence, lacking a sense of emotion.


The fair girl kept on begging, until the black egret finally nodded.
" Thank you, kind bird...now let's fly and depart from this marshland!"
So the two of them ventured into a cloudy sky expecting no rainfall...
not until they had gotten there safely and heard that sweet mother's call..

Rhyming Haiku

Rippling brook rushes
Swollen with spring rain gushes..
Eddie place bulrushes

Alligator suns
Basking her tough hide, sun buns..
Hippo destroys fun

Spring turns winter's tide
Nature comes quickly alive..
Bees buzz hopes  for bride

For: Carol Brown
Contest: "Whats' The Buzz"

Great Events and Bulrushes

Twas not a twinge that caused my shout,
Nor feats that among bulrushes lay.
Nor dread that brought reshape about,
Nor was it visualized my peg out day.

But by the Holy Spirit I was undressed,
Left meandering, 'mongst cattails standing.
My thoughts,which God, forthwith assessed,
Swallowing sin, leaving ticker pounding.

Beyond my facade, emerged an inward glow,
The magnitude of which caused me to squirm.
From wetted eyes tears began to flow,
I was now God's man, not Satan's worm.

Why I Bought a Dog Bed

Priced at 39 politically-incorrect dollars at 
the Super Wal-Mart, where I privately confess 
I may sometimes be found, there are dozens 
in a bin, squashy and round.  Designed, 
Yes, for Man's Best Friend, but useful for a rest 
in an unlikely nest in which to curl infant-style, 
until asked to fetch, or someone finds Baby 
Moses, parting bulrushes beside the lake. 

Among the tall grasses, a conductor tunes up 
masses of froglet violins, granddaddy-deep 
bassoons, and amphibian percussion 
played orchestrated only at dusk.  Then, it's 
deep uterine bedtime lulled by concerts sublime, 
and as darkness drops its mantle, busy minds
unwind, cares decelerating, the cradle song's 
abating, and sleep's a fait accompli'.

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