Long Heron Poems
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Nature knows it’s hold on me.
Nature speaks and I hear it talk to me.
The kestrel’s head dead still on prey.
The heron statue until a snack comes it’s way.
Watch a dipper dance in a splash of stream.
See a barn owl’s trance as it sees thee.
Walk through the fields, stand still and just listen to the breeze.
See a peregrine dart across the sky so clean.
Listen to the water of the babbling brook.
See the grass sway on mass as the winds catches hook.
Nature needs us to mind the keep.
Without the nature we have mankind will not rest in sleep.
Nature knew the dinosaurs and Jesus Christ long before all of us. Though we think we own what we can see in front of us. This is nature’s world, it don’t belong to us.
let me take thee dear reader rabbit alas and alack
on an imaginary carpet ride whisk king ye dis family back
rheumy eyes started to water from nostalgic clack
until reverse time warp registered
late 19600's, without one kink
smooth all the way akin
to a flawless artful lettered link
no harm to any animals,
though a near head on collision with a mink
crossing the bridge o'er Tarabithia one gruff troll
nearly upended our smooth sailing thru ether with a roll
over maneuver that near went awry,
but for the amazing grace of dog a poll
lease trained pooch,
who cuz born on Christmas christened Noel
accompanied with lady and the tramp
no major plans did we need to revamp
and upon arrival at destination
received good house keeping stamp
of approval to begin playing an all time favorite
pass time (with rules adapted as needed) to hit
a high score, when at some impromptu moment lit
an unseen spark, then after determining
who would go first, (while whirling in a small orbit)
now both of us far to involved to quit
we applied “rock”, “paper”, and “scissors”
and commenced our aim
which entailed (either me or shari)
to choose other than our own class picture to claim
for the other sibling to identify the correct name
though thru countless repetitions, the novelty did not get bland
a minor bit of concentration each of us did politely demand
of student (or teacher), whatever kid our index finder did land
number of iterations continued, how many...oh brother,
sans gesticulating rigmarole without asking mother
father, nor eldest sister, 'til eventually every girl and boy
(from respective grade including the other)
accurately identified, than back to the future we went
after what seemed like an eternity spent
revisiting nostalgic day of yesteryear,
when upon arrival to the heron now birds-eye view
our bodies morphed aging at warp speed
thomas sister this yawping crotchety old fogey gent.
On the arid marsh
No blue heron comes
No moon reflects itself
No sun can sip to quench
The shattered piece of the soul
Survives alone in the dust
Dust of the filtered memories
When the heart of the desolation
wrapped the garden of the sky
where the love left behind
the flourishing past
Let come
the love
to the desolate heart
to clean the dust of loneliness
Let come
the love
to the desolate heart
to fill with happiness
of the brimful nature
Let come
the love
to the desolate heart
to draw the peaceful soul
on the celestial canvas
Let come
the love
to the desolate heart
to write the epoch-making poetry
on the fertile veins
Let come
the love
to the desolate heart
to weave the embroidered wisdom
where time begets the love
(Inspired by “Arid Land of a Desolate Heart poem by Poet Bernadete van der Wielen)
©Mahtab Bangalee
12th January, 20215
At my desk
I pause to the minute at 11:30 am
August 22nd
30 years later
To remember who we were
When we wedded
Back then
Bought what we could afford
But with a colorful splash of class
Maybe
Borrowed only what was enough
A morning ceremony
The seamless lucky sky
River picked at by a Blue Heron
Rose garden of dynamite
Fuse of bees
All free
Flower dresses
A gathering of 50
Sitting on rows of folding white chairs
Snapping at our guest’s with their angelic jaws
I left my groomsmen at the alter
To replace my bride’s no-show dad
Retrieved her for myself
She shook like a salt shaker with a smile
Walking down the aisle
Sprinkling our life for extra taste
My stoned middle aged good hearted cousin
An alleged photographer
Loved the grand attention he got
Barking orders
At the quick ceremony afterglow
That served as the “party”
The Minister we’d only met once before
Said with a gin and tonic in hand
“Got four more to go today.”
Grin
I thank him for that prophecy
We created four beautiful children
And I can see so clearly to this very day
His words and beaming buzzing face
More than any drippy saying or advice
He or we could have ever made up
And forgotten
30 years later.
A Blue Heron unleashes itself from a
surfing wind and flowing sky.
Wings spread it rides, almost hovering,
as it seeks a nestled place to land.
There, the long reeds
have been hollowed out by its mate,
but she has gone to fish,
gone elsewhere.
The bird lands,
for a moment its long legs are buoyed
by the merest whisp of gravity.
The heron settles, folding its wings
like a cloak around him,
now as the wind ruffles its feathers
he seems only a scrawny effigy,
of the bird in flight,
a plumed twig planted in the disturbed shallows.
The pond ripples with silver whispers,
small fish dart, their heads
arrowing deeper.
The Great Blue
strides slowly to the shoreline
becomes a living statue,
a patient presence
amid the rushing blow.
That is when I saw
how the world is stirred around
by a stillness,
how an unmoving center
can turn within a heron's eye.
What is this friendship we covet
Is it special is it right.
It doesn't need to be sexual.
Sometimes I prefer you when your Intellectual.
A game two or one can play.
Endless childish fun all day.
Watching butterflies flutter bye.
Caterpillars racing them onto the leaves.
Honey bees that don't want to sting.
They are too busy collecting nectar for their queen.
Ladybirds of different colours racing up stems.
Spiders on webs waiting for a friend.
Flies that get stuck in her trap.
She cuddles them and wraps them in a bag.
Walking by the slow flowing stream.
We come to the pond. And play with frog spawn.
The dragonfly on red wings .
Catches a damsel fly to eat.
The birds sing gaily in this secluded spot.
We open our hamper and begin our picnic.
A squirrel comes over to see what he can nick.
You laugh at his boldness and throw him some biscuit.
He takes his prize up a tree he was right to risk it.
Across the pond a heron stands forlorn.
Waiting in the shadows for a fish meal.
I watch you captivated you haven't seen one before.
You take out your camera and get ready to take the shot.
He hears the click and goes into the air.
Your still excited even though the picture is blurred.
You turn and kiss me and thank me for spending time with you.
Two friends out for the day in the afternoon sun.
No need to rush no need to run.
This is what friendship is, just a day of fun.
But all things end and this day will too.
But never this bond between me and you.
WHOM will ¦¦¦ send ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ Parliament and ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ the country ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ best ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ to ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦ Galloway and ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ Laird or belted Knight
The best deserves ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ that?
Wha sees ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
(And ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ never saw ¦¦¦¦¦¦
Wha ever ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ met,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ a doubt ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
For ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦ Heron yet for ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ patriot,
The ¦¦¦¦¦¦ man, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ wit and worth, in either ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ Isle can shaw that,
¦¦¦ Dukes and Lords ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ mix,
And ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ Selkirk ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ yet ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ commoner
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ man ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ why should we to Nobles ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ against the law, ¦¦¦¦¦
For why, ¦¦¦ Lord ¦¦¦ be ¦¦¦ gowk,
¦¦¦ ribband, star and a’ that,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
Here’s Heron ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
A Lord ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ a lousy loun,
¦¦¦ ribband, star and a’ that.
¦¦¦ beardless boy comes o’er the hills,
Wi’ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ purse and a’ that;
But we’ll hae ane ¦¦¦¦ mang oursels,
A man ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ and a’ that.
For a’ that, and a’ that,
¦¦¦¦¦¦ Heron yet ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ to be bought and sold,
Like naigs, ¦¦¦ nowt, and a’ that.
¦¦¦¦ let us drink—The ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Kerroughtree’s laird, and ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
Our representative ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ he’s worthy a’ that.
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Here’s Heron ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ such as he,
They wad be blest that saw that.
(Blackout of 518. Ballad on Mr. Heron's Election—No. 1 by Robert Burns)
12/28/21
"Dodging Karens"
So easily time is merely wasted
Hidden or in fine print, not always clearly stated
People often irritated
You and your bull leaves me infuriated
Stomach such a serious statement
Every day I'm severely faded
Damage being done, much deteriorated
Disappointed in myself, some of it nearly hated
Meanwhile on a yearly basis
Areas poorly or properly irrigated
Goes for all not just a pessimist
Near and far from any precipice
All this petty s***, has no effectiveness
I shouldn't have to mention it
But go ahead and second guess this quick
Does no good remaining directionless
The same could be said for negligence
While indoor or out among the elements
In a world full of good intentions and deceptiveness
Just a game or serious matter involving counter intelligence
It's of importance or no relevance
Looking at it negatively and with a dark view
Quick to argue
Reaching for firearms too
Little if any regard, their intent is to harm you
Sad that such things are true
When problems arise they give up or march through
It hit home or was sounding strange
Compared to what was there has been astounding change
While far away or within a mountain range
Areas thriving or barren
Running errands
Dodging Karens
Driving like I'm in a McLaren
Flying high as a Great Blue Heron
In and out of a greenhouse
Never give up or just continue to dream about
What you desire, while still having these doubts
I'll give you a three count
For now, I'm going to peace out
O pussy cat, pussy cat!
Do be careful, dear.
Look at the moon so bright,
A slice of magic from above.
See the birds enchanted
Still flying though it’s night,
Careful, my sweet babe,
You’re too much near the edge
And it’s so easy to fall into the sea.
Remember neither you nor I
Know how to swim.
We are too young, my sweet.
But we’ll grow up
And I’ll become a lady.
I’ll wear a beautiful black gown
Adorned with sequins all over.
They’ll sparkle in the night.
That is my favourite time.
I’ll go near the water’s edge.
Maybe go for a swim too.
Look a heron flying high.
It is a sign of good fate.
I’ll follow her
Even though the woods.
Who knows, maybe, just maybe
There will be fairies there.
Hark that is a harp playing
Magic melodies for us all.
Perhaps we’ll have a summer party.
Oh, what a great event that will be.
We will be happy you and I
Forever and forever more.
But for the moment we’ll just sit here,
Above the placid sea,
Me, pussy cat and the moon,
And dream our future dreams.
He sat on this patch of turf,
and if not this exact place a piece of a place nearby.
Naturally, I try to feel his companionship.
Did he write a line of poetry on this small island
or was he simply being Walt Whitman,
honored guest,
a person he hardly recognized from his youth?
I feel his old bones not his youthful step
but also his long poems
as they ride Ohio river currents
at ease with the next slow bend,
or some quick kink and churn of its history.
I imagine his hand on the ground,
it heaves my body up from a deep grass
and quilts me to a terrain
where fingers meet on a shared wrist
a place where heron wings beat.
I feel the mutuality of crossed roads,
the cadence of shore eddies
as they unbutton a coat
he left draped over a rail of this wooden jetty.