Long Coots Poems
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ABC Animal Twist
Adored and diverse, life thrives on earth; each day nature sees new births.
Big and small, abundantly in seas and trees; great beauty breathes.
Chameleons, cats, corn snakes, and coots, survive great threats in life's pursuit.
Delightful dragonflies from dart frogs duck; drake-crakes scoot upon lakes.
Eagles and egrets soar blue skies; an elephant endangered cries.
Fabulous fauna: fairy flies, and deer upon flora feed needs.
Graceful purple gallinules, young goats, and giraffes bring joyful laughs.
Hag-fish, halibut and hammerhead birds…birds? Yes! Nature preserves.
Insects and ibis work their charm; crusty isopods cause alarm.
Jaguars enjoy tasty meals; leftovers are the jackals' appeal.
Kiwi that fruits, kiwi that flies both species in New Zealand resides.
Living world the Creator made; since the beginning, wisdom stayed.
Matchless miracles, wonders, and births together blessed on our earth.
Never alone, no matter where, life exists here, there, everywhere.
Oh how beautiful, artfully wonderful, God-primed blissful place.
Planet earth and outer space together share a glorious race.
Question not; God loves this world. See creations glide, slide, swim, and swirl.
Reverence life; it was made with love; He still watches from up above.
Still breezes and sunshine please; sturgeon, shrimp, salmon, and sardines feed;
Termites, thrashers, terriers and teal find niches that have appeal.
Under God's skies, the umbrella birds fly. Man ponders; God replies.
Venomous snakes make rodents quake; Vultures clean up for good health's sake.
Weeping willows watch wolves whelp; chirping yellow warblers sing to elves.
X-Ray fish known since early days leave modern man looking amazed.
Yosemite toads, yetis, and yaks live on the lands without lack.
Zoology on earth from alligators to zorilla zings!
© Name withheld for the contest
February 24, 2010
Poetic form: ABC
See> ANIMAL HABITAT PICTURES LINKS for my ABC Animal Twist poem It was posted
separately as a list poem. OK I hope. Smiles
Boated through the tantalizing Kerala backwater
in a pleasant summer morning;
Coconut groves were adorning
our way and perky fishes were chased by river otters
Cacophony of the swaying lofty coconut trees
and the nearby evergreen plants
produced a mesmerizing chant
that certainly consoled the chaotic minds and appease
Majestic banyan tree with its spiraled pillar branches
enthralled the endemic birds
and the migrating animal herds
on the river bank, renovated the place into the ranch
Suddenly the boat entered into the hollow way
where tangled trees made archways,
and fallen flowers filled our pathways
welcomed us, it was such an unforgettable day
Reflections of the slender palm trees on the waters,
painted a flawless picturesque picture
with the kaleidoscope of colors and mixtures
Which was untapped only in the perpetual back waters
Coots and cormorants swiftly plunged into water
When they heard the sound of the boat
Tranquility of the place calmed the hysteria
and it led to the apocalypse of worldly emotions
Sep-9-2017
POTD on Sep 11 2017
I was so happy and I felt so blessed as I received this honour on the death anniversary of my favorite poet Mahakavi Bharathiyar.
I am the prize catch
I live in an artificial lake
fed by a nappe phréatique
I was put there to keep
lesser fish: carp
from taking up too much space
I live to be caught
and caught again
and be let loose as rain
I protest only to attract attention
Twenty minutes to make things look good
for the fresh-water sportsman
I know now well how to play the game
My almost fanless tail
A slithering mermaid mass from my puffed-up head
where overcoat-button eyes
sunk on either side
of my gaping gasping mouth
shell-fish fins for hands
Seven beige whiskers under my gawking chin
make me the butt
of dare-devil diving click-clucking coots
Even the slender-necked darting grebe ignores me
I stay low when the wild geese gather
with their young :
duckling swan barnacle
I make no sound to call my own
Only the crunch of carp
between two rows of filed-down molars
It is not my duty to swagger around
even under my metallic raincoat camouflage
I hide where the yarrow stalks grow thick and deep
or where the weeping willows dip their loaded plaits
Every Sunday I await the sporting hameçon
The tear makes the wear more ludique
Only the side of my underlip looks like a harelip
It doesn’t much matter
for the fun-loving trotters and rovers
like to marvel with pride at my side
in the fishing-club picture of the week
Meantime I gorge myself with carp
That’s why I hardly ever wish to carp
© T. Wignesan – Paris - 2012
Note : The Siluroid , one of the largest fresh-water fishes, sometimes a metre and a half in length.
On my first trip to the outback across the endless plains,
I saw a harsh and hungry land in pastel coloured stains.
There are more secrets out there, than sun and shifting sand -
It would take more than my lifetime to ever understand.
I saw Eagles, Wrens and Butcherbirds; Kangaroo and Emu,
blending with the Saltbush, in Mallee scrub and Heathland too.
Choughs flock along the roadside. Bearded Dragons soak up sun;
a King Brown sweeps with lightning speed; a Goanna on the run.
A sight to behold my thirsty eyes; a lake filled blue and wide,
big as any ocean I have seen. I could not see the other side,
Wildflowers bloom with coloured heads; purple, red and blue.
The Eremophila and Cassia display, a dull but greyish hue.
Black dots littered 'cross the surface in their thousands do amaze.
Ducks, Pelicans, Swans and Coots - further than the shimmering haze.
Long legged Stints with sticky beaks tread sand along the shore.
Swallows skimmed the water - what fish surfaced I'm not sure.
To stand alone amid this beauty, surely, too few of us will see.
Below the skies unending azure blue - vastness runs away from me.
I get the chance to have reflection now 'bout hardships in my hand,
but troubles in my life seem small when casting eyes across this land.
Once I left the sandy shoreline, this reflection stayed a while
etching past the endless Saltbush, which grows mile after mile.
And the dry and dusty plains return where water’s hard to find -
I yearn for comforts of my home - yet crave the views I left behind.
We have to be breathing right to hear it,
the silence in which all song arises;
we have to be breathing slow
and gentle
and not to be staring angrily at the world.
We have to be breathing right to feel it,
the tenderness in which we are held by nature.
We have to be breathing quiet
and soft
and to be looking receptively,without desire.
We have to be breathing right to recall it
the music we heard when there was silence.
We have to be being breathed
by the world
We have to be part of the whole..
and so,we forget it as we are pounded
by noise of radios and TVs
by people talking loudly on cell phones
by the green fields and river
by the secret heron
by the coots nest
by the daisies
When I am dying I shall think,
Why was I not breathing right?
Why was I scarcely breathing?
Why did I forget those moments?
Why did I not live more deeply?
Why did i not sing more sweetly?
Why did I nor love more dearly?
Why did i not listen more carefully?
Why did I not sing more sweetly?
why did I not see more completely?
Why don't we talk more gently?
Why don't we look more intently?
Why were the poppies growing so wildly?
Why were the battlefields growing nightly?
Why did we murder men so lightly?
Why did we not love more rightly?
Why are the poppies covering the soil so politely?
When did the young soldiers leave so frightfully?
Why are we not here more quietly?
I've grown a bit slower, I've grown a bit fatter,
my mission each hour: relieving my bladder.
When I was a youngster, I had no idea
old coots who eat fruits will just get diarrhea.
My eyesight is going - my glasses need glasses,
and don't get me started on myriad gases:
that flatus I thought should have stayed deep inside
escaped from its chamber, despite how I tried.
My hearing was great once, now I spend big money
on aids, just to know why those jokes are so funny.
I never had allergies back in the day -
I sneeze now from looking at pictures of hay.
My barber once covered his floor with brown hair -
that floor now looks gray (and there's not a lot there).
I thought in retirement I'd be a blob -
I'm busier now than when I had a job:
My schedule with doctor's appointments I fill,
the outcome of each is, "here, take this new pill".
Perhaps I once asked what that pain in my joint meant,
so now my skin's greasy from medical ointment.
Once, fully formed sentences from me were heard,
I pause quite a bit now to find the right........ word.
Back then, my vocab was a source of great pride,
now new words or phrases I just cast aside.
I need a warm blanket, my toes all feel frosted,
but walking to get one just leaves me exhausted.
Some good comes from fires becoming an ember -
I'd say it here (if I could only remember…)
Dam you bastards with water; I think you all are coots
While I watch the weather everyday and plead for rain filled fronts
I’m not some greedy bastard, which wants to grow more grass
I need my stock to have a drink, and save their thirsty ****
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not some greenie, with an axe to grind
In many areas our futures, are unbelievably intertwined
But for god sake, sit back and think, just how lucky that you are
Because all that water that you waste, well some comes from my jar.
I can’t but help, smile a wry grin, when the irrigation stops
As the whinging starts, about the loss in cash, as profit production drops
Your stock still have water, to pour straight down their throats
Water troughs filled to the brim, not erectile dysfunction floats
I see your places from the hill, circles of dark green crops and grass
Metal robots, pissing water, creatures born of greed; I have to sigh alas
There’s more to farming than factory farms and copious quantities of water
Deciding on paper, which animals must go, on the truck to slaughter.
So please forgive me when I wish on you, pestilence and misery
May your cereals wilt, stock get the shits, and your profits become history
I’m not some greedy bastard, of extra dry matter I have no need
If my stock just had clean water to drink, from my anxiety I’d be freed
Some people frankly write about their quirks.
If I had any, I would tell you so.
Though no outlandish trait within me lurks,
some folks think I’m a nut. What do they know?
Why do they criticize when I engage
in conversations with myself. What’s wrong
with them? Also, they frequently enrage
me, looking shocked when I burst into song
while jogging through the neighborhood at night
clad in my red muu-muu and army boots.
I overhear them saying, “What a sight!”
I live around mean-spirited old coots!
My grandkids, too, think my behavior strange.
because I check the stove repeatedly
(I must be SURE it’s off!) and rearrange
my papers fifteen times. They’re irked at me
when I repeat myself five times a day.
I do this for THEIR benefit! They just
do not appreciate wise things I say.
One learns by repetition; it’s a MUST.
I surely hope I’ve made this crystal clear:
I have no oddball quirks; I’m truly blessed
with wholesome traits that, I feel, should endear
me to all those who criticize and jest!
FICTIONAL (well--some of it))
Date written and posted: February 6, 2018
Contest Title: Quirks Placed 5th (of ten)
Sponsor: Madison Demetros
April 10, 2019, entered in Richard Lamoureau's Poem of the Day Contest
When I received this honor--POTD February 8, 2018--I was over the MOON!
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Seventeen
Of late the tepid cold only rebousse poil her coyness
Nowhere the slushy mud caked into strands of crunchiness
Even the over-mothering coots let their chicks roam all alone
Sand and soil slop in swishing puddles down her tress fullness
Darkness bloomed along her gamboling Riviera façade
Window-panes like so many cryptic poker-face cards invade
While amber-lit promenades reflect once debutante gaiety
Now swans sail in wanton jerks into the late evening jade
Cocky sea-gulls from far-off cascades spurn the land-locked lake
Screech and caw like white-crows and bully bread crumbs from swan beak
All over her borderless skirts droop stems and stalks fading downcast
And the froth and foam gather at the Prefecture’s northern gate
Was she ailing in the meniscus all summer to icy spring?
The promenade of choice girding the Prefecture like a sling
Stayed slammed and riveted with the gate gutter over-flowing
Some said ‘twas the asylum seekers broke into the building
To rob official stamps and cartes de sejour to gain false entry
Others less scrupulous thought Omar the culprit roaming free
Said some the Procureur made out a writ for his instant capture -
Abetted, said they, by the Resident Maid – our Bard sans country!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Senryu and Poem, below:
I
Autumn, dawn, clouds, lake:
Flutter of white storm - trash?
Hundred cowbirds: commute
II - The Poem:
Maybe some 200 cowbirds-
All white with adapted, heron-like beaks -
Flutter as leaders honk instructions
Above the misty waters:
Autumn here has begun
But I saw manybnests, never such a commute!
Maybe more residents have added numbers -
Joyfully adding to surprise & smiles -
But I am up earlier, to see a neighbor
Before he leaves for his job.
Happily, above the terrible trash around,
Amen for this Golden treasure of a lake - albeit polluted -
Offers comorants, ducks, cowbirds and coots
A home so near me. To ease exile from clean Europe
Good Note: GRACE TODAY FOR THIS WRITE
Dankie Jesus
Usually, internet service, ads, perishing airtime/ data, or PS submission pages malfunction at the slightest chance. This poem was meant
To Be, Hallelujah. Praise Die Heer, as we say here, for allowing
not even a word or line to get lost ... Because I fell asleep in the middle of the third line of the three-line senryu above. My concerns on
awaking from a surprise nap so early on Saturday turned to
all Gratitude And Glory to the Maker of Man, of Creation, of creative
Works of human geniuses, and smart cellphones. Today mine was smart! Amen