My feet are cold as they have always been
since time began
and they are strong, and my legs are long
and suit my purpose.
I have a large sharp beak and I spear things,
and then I’ve eaten, and I don’t do much really
I stand amid reflections.
I have large blue wings that enfold and carry me,
and it doesn’t seem like much —
just standing here quiet and still
but I’ve seen men gasp
as if they caught a glimpse of heaven
I am the Great Blue Heron.
Written: June 19, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Tania Kitchin
PS: Checked by HMS.COM
************
haiku 1 — heron
statue-still, gray stone
its gaze halts the river's hush ~
time leans, wise, and still
haiku 2 — wren
the morning wren sings
melodies weave through dawn skies ~
feathers stir soft light
Epitome of grace and patience
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Knee-deep in stillness,
it waits—a question mark
pressed into the shallows.
Then, like a blade slipped
between the ribs of the river,
it strikes.
Nothing moves
but the fish’s silver flicker
of regret.
from the mountain top
eagle eye view of the lake
heron pushes off
h
e
r
o
n
o
f
snow white
straightens out a
graceful neck
w
h h
a e
t r
l
i s
e i
s g
h
i t
n ?
The white heron, in stark contrast,
became even more visibly white
as it perched on the mud.
“Mystique”
by Positive Mark
My dearest, ravenous raven, I now approach you with the bill of a Blue Heron, and a one-track mind to sip your affection.
You’re perched in audacious submission, and it enslaves me.
You fit my lifestyle with your feminine wiles, you beautiful, gorgeous Black child.
Neatly petite, with the prettiest feet, my fever grows when you’re painting your toes.
How dare I let a day pass without writing a book about you?
There’s nothing I can do. I’m enamored with you, and engrossed in your mystique.
Your embossed physique drips past my eyes, to my lips, then I use it to moisten my quill.
What is love, but unwavering will?
1407 UNTITLED HAIKU Contest // Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Contest Judged: 8/30/2025 9:18:00 AM
( 5th Place )
Written: August 28, 2025
dusk on the river
a heron lifts without sound
shadows drift behind
is the grey heron happier than me,
When he hovers over the small lake,
I have no trouble imagining it, dear neighbor,
And the raven more wicked than black, say
Is he happier than you, great poet?
I have no trouble imagining it, dear neighbor,
And the duck accompanied by sweet oranges,
His destiny ends in apotheosis, to put it better,
Is the cat striped with yellow happier?
When he walks like a Siberian tiger,
I have no trouble imagining it, dear neighbor,,
The animals look at the measure of everything,
They are much happier than you, Poet.
A Pond’s Melody
dragonflies buzzing
spring peepers chirping for mates
splashing fish jumping for meals
blue herons squawking
bilious bullfrogs croaking
quacking mallards leading young
there was a young toad named Joad
who began life as a mere tadpole
one day it is said
he ended up dead
the protein in a Blue Heron’s casserole
The Great Blue soared
to a vacant apartment in the sky,
it circled its own shadow as it crossed the sun,
then rowed away on a dazzle of wind.
The heron was not about to release his catch.
I can imagine his delight as he dove into the water.
The caught prey is no doubt horrified,
It has stopped struggling now.
Weird how fast we go from life to lunch
light gently sailed before me,
it was a heron, fragile being-
her white hair flowing over mine
like the touch of heaven`s stars;
splendor fell upon my soul,
I`ve seen her purity swell within.
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