Long Marshland Poems
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Lin, a Chinese friend giggled at my feeble, say,
pedestrian attempt at Cantonese,
the Chinese word for butterfly or dragon even moth
just vanished down the throat of one
so eager yet befuddled,
turning egg shell noodles under spit fire lanterns,
our laughter rose and fell amid the sotto voce banter now in train.
Me, the woodland boffin, immersed in esoteric marshland plant life,
the sort that rules the grand designs of green leaf activists.
Lin, the restless late teen nomad,
who had yet to sink deep roots,
often dwelt in backstreet fruit and flora stalls.
On occasions even flexing sylvan muscles
on craggy mountain tops.
Her flawless English honed through years of rough sea ferry ventures,
on holidays abroad in trendy sunspots,
at major meadow festivals where gaiety and buzz words sprout.
We keep in touch through text and pen as often as we can.
Meeting up is fun.
I hope one day my knowledge of those mystic eastern tongues
will stray beyond the basics of some tawdry travel phrase book,
the one I’m prone to cart around the world but seldom use
Contest : YOUR PERSONAL FAVOURITE
Date judged with N/A : 4 th August 2021
Dead World
Only bog, a marshland, outcaste life, a world of a life
A world of a bona fide and kind-hearted life, no image
No vision, no view, nothing, the future is blind, a kind
the one of our missed love. All of them. Killed hopes
by your will, you followed your nazi psychologists. I died
my life, the hoped children, still waiting for their lights
You are an English lady and I am a European man. No kinds.
We are no lives. No life. I come from the health socialization
You are driven by foggy psychology. English misty lands
England has killed its roots. All the European lines
You have no river or path in a European life, a far live
My soul and demon needed to send you a saver's hand
You cut off my hand
You killed our lines
Loved you my heart,
my ancestors
was waiting for you
with crystal hearts
Loved you
Vilmos
Demon
In the land of golden sunshine, where the waves do crash,
There lies a tranquil beauty, a Californian marsh.
Where waters shimmer softly, reflecting skies so blue,
A haven for the creatures, and a sanctuary too.
The marshland breathes with life, a chorus of birdsong,
As egrets gracefully wade, camly gliding along.
Their wingspan wide and elegant, in search of their delight,
In this marshland sanctuary, where nature takes its flight.
The reeds sway gently in the breeze, whispering their tale,
Of ancient times and stories, in this mystical wetland trail.
The scent of salty ocean, mingling with the earth,
Creates a fragrant symphony, celebrating marshland's birth.
Amongst the vibrant colors, where wildflowers bloom,
Butterflies dance in harmony, dispelling any gloom.
Dragonflies in vibrant hues, zip and dart with grace,
As they skim the marshland's surface, a ballet in space.
Beneath the calm and peaceful waters, secrets are concealed,
As fish and turtles glide, their presence unrevealed.
The marshland is a treasure, a fragile ecosystem,
Where harmony and balance thrive, nature's precious prism.
So let’s cherish this marshland, this Californian gem,
Protect its fragile beauty, let its spirit never dim.
For in its tranquil embrace, we find solace and peace,
A refuge for all creatures, where nature's wonders never cease.
Around me in a seamless stream, leaves cartwheel in the wind
They tumble from the tall ramparts, then seep into ravines
I've stepped into continuum, to a world beyond compare
to catch the day's reflection in still waters of a dream
Beneath me in a sheltered cove, where reeds and cattails sway
a flash of green, where frogs jump rope, with goals to break the calm
Wind clearly shares a word or two, with ripples on the pond,
and sweeps the grass upon the glass that traps the falling sun
I hone in on a water-bird, who doesn't seem aware
He dips his feet, and I can't speak,…..afraid he'll scurry far
The tranquil day is worry free, and peace is my best friend
Again, to tease, the jealous breeze has stirred the pond's veneer
Gold stretches out a wonderland, no moment's hesitation
as the low wide arms of marshland spreads, and calls for rapt attention
I want to write a poem, a verse.....and curse my own distraction
My morning's gone, and afternoon finds splendor everywhere
The sky is bold, as day unfolds, beneath the fevered brow
Beholding beauty such as this, would cause the tongue to swell
Where the slopes of other places vie or longing eyes might dwell
The heart feels quiet sympathy, they cannot compare as well
O' mystery of what I see, I've learned, and I'm compelled
If heaven shines so beautiful…I can't imagine how
If heaven shines so beautiful...Oh, Lord, please take me now
_________________________________________________
8/14/16Inspired By the painting "Wild Symphony"
Contest: Wordscapes
Sponsored by John Hamilton
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..
Thou art no migrant bird, O Pink Beauty,
But forced art to fly many a long miles
Looking for fresh habitat and water,
In search of new breeding and nesting isles.
And in this search of a shallow wetland,
Ye fly hundreds of miles in patterned file.
Once there, watching ye take off on webbed feet,
Ah what a sight when ye lift off in style!
Thanks to vast wetlands getting polluted,
Despite thine number threatened art thou still,
What with habitats getting degraded,
Should ye lose out, oh what a cruel ill!
I watch when ye fly in flocks of thousands,
Then settle down sighting the right wetland
Or marshland, with friends and family bands,
What gorgeous a sight ye turn lifeless land!
And now a word about thine mating dance
That pairs of males perform to charm females—
Their magical synchronised head movements,
At climax a wing salute does regale.
It's strange, O thou Lesser Pink Flamingo,
Thou art no ‘lesser'— colour nor number,
Nor beauty, nor yet dancing style ye know,
Only size that thou art any humbler!
Soon as monsoon comes to its end, I think
Of thine flocks to turn wetlands a deep pink!
_____________________________________________ ____
Reminiscing | 21.09.2020 |
Entered for "All Yours (May 20) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
The infant rays of sunlight
Filtered through the small panes
Of the sleepy Hobbitons, a wake-up
Call to the start of the day.
Shire-folks smoked weed
And Argentine ciphers born of
The plumes ripples into thin air
Carrying the dream of the day.
The wild Brandywine in her stately
Updraft, washes away the suffering
Of felled logs disturbing her flow
And dips them straight into the marshland.
The pretty flora of the ancient woodlands
Stack their dreams in swirling petals of which
Are later reborn in the night.
The proud Three Shire Oak stands as
A silent guardian to Whitwell wood
As woodpeckers prick into the cavernous
Echoes of his heart to find out his longing.
Remnant of white clouds like ancient
Ruins wander lonely over the Hills of Evendim
And reflections of a century’s History float
In their accord.
Shire! Fill me with your rainbow colors
And let me dive deep into your essence
And let me stay drowned in your dreams
Forever.
Sweet butterscotch dew dimples on the lips of daffodils
In flourishing fields fondled by four leaf clover
Each scant spikelet of small white blooms playfully pleasure
Rejoicing with fragrance within this meadow of elation
Full throated birdsongs from summer clad throngs
On painted wings twittering mimics to the joyful muse
Singing...I belong, I belong, I belong
Basking in the beams that blanket with golden warmth
Flittering, fluttering, tittering, shimmering butterfly wings
Catch the amicable air stream gliding to each flush of flowers
While the bustling boom of buzzing bees flaunt and flirt
With tiny tendrils and pistils laden with summer succulence
Marigold marshes pop aloud with a scented stinky snout
While the honeysuckle mingles and clings to save the day
Dragonfly wings scour the sky above the tadpole's glug and splosh
As caterpillars lazily race for the next bite on half-eaten leaves
The standing creek lies bogged with meditative stillness
As it ever recedes ritually to the shallows in the vaporous heat
Filching foamy froth for snapping turtles, water striders and snails
As it belches its murky gases from soggy bottom sludge
This serendipitous splendor of sensuous sparkling soulfulness
This symbiotic symphony of nature's stirring recital repeats
In the eyes that behold, the nose that savors, the ears that revel
The touch that embraces and the heart that remembers...
This Heaven on Earth - This Heartsong!
July 6, 2020
butter flies and marshes mellow Poetry Contest
sponsored by Kai Michael Neumann
1
the goose is putting signature
on the plume detaching from its tail
the queue is overflowed with crowd
groping in the memory of the gathering people
so many safety pins and cello-tapes
are found
on the shoulders of some wayfarers
there is the stammering cold
2.
the body-language of the moon
is being so changed
the enthusiastic may test
blood came down
when the tap is on
and sweat
now birds from siberia
are flowing in through the disc antenna
the dravidian air is ever changing
now none can get ruined
following all the grammar
3.
the sole hunger of the winter
is being noted down in the note book
covered with human-skin
the clouds of the summer and the rainy season
are salivating
the garrulous spiders are detaching the shells
of the dead deer and putting the gardens in the iron-chest
throwing dry leaves to shoo away the coke
oh, the sleeveless palms
are all the new girl-friends ok
4.
putting on the rain-coat to save the skin
or it’s an armour
is your body safe
fireworks are twinkling
piercing
the fire-brigade has gone to a joyful journey with the clouds
admit the charisma of the bathroom
you the adult buffalo
don’t forget to tell
the experienced cormorants have flown in from the marshland
5.
diving in search of kisses
I saw all are stings
even the wicker tray with the articles of ceremonial reception
can’t escape bite
would you be clean
oh engrossed abir
so many flakes of snow on the branches of the guava tree
the festival is in your teeth also
tame your blood
don’t submerge the river into the waves
and there is the sky
beg a rail
dancer in the dense vegetation
of a marshland
echoes
a harsh-like call
a very unbirdlike call
of a gallinute rail bird
with glossy blue-green plummage
bright yellow legs with long talons
and an long orange
and yellow beak ...
a secretive bird
who is a weak flyer
mostly flightless
loving thick reed beds
and underbrush to run through
an opportunist feeder of bugs
can swim to find fish
and an occasional frog
endangered in some places
due to loss of habitat
listen for whistle-like
squeak-like grunts
when near marshlands
or dense forests ...
_____________________
April 16, 2021
Poetry/Verse/blue-green bird
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1347-464-16
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard Contest, All Yours (Apr 17)
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged, 04/16/2021
First Place