Long Mallard Poems
Long Mallard Poems. Below are the most popular long Mallard by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mallard poems by poem length and keyword.
Plush peacock king wears his crown with pride
Heralded as one of the features of his spring time park
Admired by thousands, refreshed daily and often
He is created from the prettiest flowers.
Majestic, regal, bold, he is but one of the masterpieces
Created by gardeners who have conquered flower-ologies.
Trussed up in the most vibrant posies at the end of each shift
Strutting his stuff, gloating at his poor brown queen of one color
She sits at the other edge of the garden, in her plainness.
Visited by almost no one, as she is as dull as he is colorful.
The meanness of nature; she understands how the mallard female feels
As she watches the two-leggeds flock oohing and ahhing around the king.
A small dog (possibly irish)
fights a dandelion seed as it puffs upward
on a gentle breeze.
Pin sharp teeth snap at near misses.
I am unleashed walking around a park pond
the earth trembles with deep thoughts.
Father Thomas in his long black priestly frock
is riding an electric scooter.
He is smiling at me and nodding as if he knows me.
He doesn't, but I know him,
and I am not sure about the guy.
The sun is rolling out of a bed of clouds,
young mothers are showing up pushing strollers.
The infants toddle as they ride with their eyes closed.
They are dream-walking in their ears.
Five yellow ducklings dibble and dabble on a calm surface
They sound like lost kittens as they call.
An adult Mallard has its head underwater
its bottom tail feathers upended.
The yellow line of ducklings dibble and babble faster
as they converge upon the hope of being found.
Joggers are arriving in packs.
Soon this place will buzz and swarm,
kids will shout out 'mummy, mummy, mummy'
for no reason at all
and then it will all go quiet.
Guest lists will be compiled, reservation booked
for more perambulations, but for now
the throng disperses one by one
each in thoughtful solitude.
Yashi rolled her eye at her sister’s playful antics.
Kirby did not take life seriously at all, carefree, with no worries.
What was that? Someone in the yard? Yashi’s radar went out.
She began to bark in earnest, eager to save the family.
Kirby rolled over and played with her stuffed fish.
Was that a chewy stick? She ran, slid and pounced.
Come play! She barked to Yashi.
Yashi did not even hear her; she was scaring a burglar.
Would he be coming in the window or the doggie door?
Yashi barked loudly, hoping to rouse the family next door.
That old lady was a spy if she ever saw one.
She would have the F.B.I. here in minutes if she heard.
Calm down! Kirby said to her sister. Take a look at this duck!
The mallard was cuddly and soft, with a silly looking rolling eye.
Where is the other eye? Yashi asked, repulsed. He was obsessive compulsive.
He liked all of is things in order, and strangers eliminated from the yard.
But here's another odd item, one that gives me a very funny, almost queasy feeling, whenever I think on it long enough. Ever since that day with Clarence, whenever I go to the park pond to feed the birds, and when I finish at the shore with the swans, (as I promised Clarence I would), and go up to the bench to feed the pigeons, that funny little duck with the striped leg, the one I now call Grace, always follows me, and either sits down by my foot, or sometimes, jumps up to the bench to warm in the late-day sun.
And the REAL kicker? There's a NEW duck now, a drake or male, and he's always tagging along behind the female, though at a safe distance from me ... he follows her everywhere, always watching what she does, always very intent on her habits, and sometimes even getting flustered when he thinks she's near danger ... and he has two bright orange legs, like she does, two very striking, piercing eyes, like her, two perfectly shaped Mallard wings, like her, and ONE ... single ... stripe, on his left leg.
My mind to arms to hands to oars to lake
I cleave the sunrise glass-like surface, still
With just my lonely friend, a mallard drake
Thus set adrift, my thoughts, upon the wake
So buoyed by the breath of morning's chill ...
Oh, how I long to know the somber deep
To let my weary soul sink with the bream
But I have many vows that I must keep
My web-toed friend and I have loves to reap
And many lochs to row before we dream ...
Yes, many lochs to row ... before we dream.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Standard Contest Number 135 Any Form Or None" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Rhyme Time II" Poetry Contest, Laura Loo, Sponsor.
My long sleep wasn't disturbed by a Mallard,
no visions of wars but of absolute serenity...
giving this body a vital boost of energy;
flowing was the blood, sound was the mind!
The green-winged Teal seemed too hungry,
and munching on a piece of bread, hurriedly
glanced and drastically feared the rangy vagrant
with a face so pale that even startled a big cat!
Opening my window to the cool breeze of March
takes the whiff of staleness out of the dim room;
observe the yellow begonias cherishing its caress...
'though perturbed by the smell of the forest Larch!
Flowers don't feel pain, neither they show gloom:
tend to them and they will display their loveliness!
I grab my pen and start composing another lyric
to describe this wonderful season that delights;
I'm glad that winter has put an end its snowy days!
Do poets choose their words according to images,
or they pop into their heads and write ditty verses
diverging from the norm of poetry that's too intrinsic?
Opening my window to the cool breeze of March...
oh, sonorous spring has arrived ending my confinement
to a glass desk with a Dell computer to find a replacement!
Does artificial intelligence offer some enlightenment?
Not all cope with loneliness: dramatic was the fate of Lach;
how many of us have used extreme measures to stay afloat?
With the incoming sounds of spring, a resurrection of life,
the chilliness flees. Quote _ by Poet
Ready for a new season, Spring birds
Shake off winter; embracing
The bonniest warmness weather,
Babies born, and color of nature's crowns.
Scarlet Tanagers chatter, flying round,
Feasting on caterpillar's slowness
And beetles boring away that are found;
whilst
Eternal sunlight reft through sturdy limbs
And myriad leaves of the mighty old oak;
Rapid rhythm clatter drum sounds
Of the Woodpecker on its breast shout.
A hum, a garden faintly woo a smile
At song sung by pretty red feather Robin dancing.
A sweet kiss, a seed, the male Cardinal
Feeds his blush pretty mate favor.
Yonder pond, tree boughs
Teasing the water's edge
Whilst
Little Mallard ducklings
Follow mamma to the bank.
Bluebird builds her nest
Right in the heart of the sprouting
Redbud flowering tree.
Camouflage in the red begonia
An orange breasted Oriole
With its sweet enchanting sound.
On the horizon the fire fades out,
Hush around in high perch, tiny roosting
Cold blue moon comes into sight.
In the early morning, as the sun yawns and lets out her first light ray
two fishermen walk through the flooded bushes, searching for fish.
Inside cooler waters a silent lake says, " Take your time, take your time"
The sun slow at it's highest point drips with gold and continues to splay
while fish with their caudal fins and tails, kick forward into refreshing waters,
enjoying cool oxygen moments of grace, before the water gets too hot.
"Take your time, take your time" says the dawn
pink and purple, saffron yellow, with a touch of golden mellow.
Two buddies side by side, just like Abbott and Costello
catching fish and then releasing, into the undulated waves.
The sound of a female duck quacking in the distance,
followed by six mallard duckling babies, dark chocolate brown
with fuzzy yellow tails, wagging happily;
They appear to be saying, " take your time, take your time"
In the noon day sun an open tackle box and an empty thermos.
A passerby says " caught any fish yet?"
the fisherman smiles, not yet, they are just taking their time.
Warning - Don't read The Raven and Watch Hitchcock on the same night.
Once before my bedtime, nearing, which I dreaded, fazed and fearing,
Stories mother would read me before she closed and locked my bedroom door —
While I washed up in the water, could mom have drawn it any hotter?
Before me swam a rubber duckling, chuckling as my mother shut the door
“‘Tis some water fowl”, I muttered, “which mother bought me from the store.
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I can place it - the sad night Mother would misplace it;
Or entirely erase it; of her mind remaining nothing more.
I lay in bed, mother tucking, on feathers of mother’s plucking
Time for your book, said mother clucking, clucking as she locked the bedroom door —
I’ll read “Make Way for Ducklings” and then warm milk she began to pour -
all across the bedroom floor.
Assuredly, I felt no sorrow, as mother left me till the morrow
Sighing - buying time – which maybe I could only hope to borrow;
I heard my monstrous mother screaming, or maybe Tippi Hedren streaming
as Hitchcock’s “Birds” was beaming from the TV laying on the floor—
“’Tis just Hitchcock’s “Birds” beaming from the TV laying on the floor” -
This it is and nothing more.”
Inside that book peered at me smiling, a crazed duck that set me dialing
911 and protective services to frantically implore
The feeling in my stomach sinking, “I need a friend”, I was thinking
Staring wildly at this ghastly mallard who chilled me to the core
Then, at once, I saw it, heard it, this grinning duck needn’t chill me to the core
as he said, “I will be your friend forevermore”.
One for the kids at heart...
Howard the mallard
A handsome young duck
Flew into a tree
Got his quacker stuck
Try as he might
He couldn't break free
His quacks for help
Were muffled you see
He flapped his wings
And thrashed his feet
A blackbird came by
With a worm in his beak
“Sure like to help”
He mumbled quite low
“But having my dinner
I'm sure it must show!”
Next came a rabbit
Wandering by
Something up high
In the tree caught his eye
“What's going on?”
He queried the duck
Who struggled to answer
Of course with no luck
“I'd help you, dear mallard
but rabbits don't climb!”
Then a stork appeared
“I'll help you!” he chimed
His legs were long
He reached up to Howard
Gave him a whack
He wasn't a coward
Howard came free
And noticed the stork
Had been carrying something
A wee thing of sorts
Suddenly he realized
What storky was carrying
A pleasant surprise
A baby duck in a sling
It was Howard's new baby
A duckling named Herbert
After seeing this treasure
Forgot about his hurt!
© Jack Ellison 2013