Long Waterfowl Poems
Long Waterfowl Poems. Below are the most popular long Waterfowl by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Waterfowl poems by poem length and keyword.
The river looks calm and inviting,
a natural gift of beauty.
Waterfowl inhabit to feed and nest.
A gateway shared by creatures,
dangers hidden beneath.
The river is beautifully calm and serene,
its powerful dangers are often unseen.
Currents can swirl hidden from shore,
tragically become be a drowning door.
A natural resource to respect and admire,
a gift of nature that will never expire.
Unique with brackish water properties too,
with legends of sea creatures venturing through.
a white egret soars
diving into spawning fish ~
a river regale
9/5/2020 (edited 9/6/20)
Writing Challenge - Nature, Four in One
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
Upon the lakes they do swim gliding so effortlessly
These species of graceful waterfowl the largest of anatidae family
In their beautiful pure white plumage with elegant long curved necks
Blunted beaks and big webbed feet living together by water's edge
These magnificent creatures of the waters are a sign of purity and love
Remind us of the blessings in our relationships a gift from heaven above
If all goes well in there pairing they will stay together for rest of their life’s
When they glide upon the waters of our awareness they bring us deep insight
These birds of Mother Nature they’re exquisite and unique
Bearing exotic waves of beauty to our dreams as we do sleep
They swim around in our divine mind adding colours of delight
Encouraging us to spread our wings and take our glorious flight
Courting occurs on rivers and lakes throughout the known world
Whilst they live on plant life tiny fish and scattered bread as well
You might see them duck their heads as they feed upon their foods
But you better beware of their aggression whilst they protect their broods
The elegance of these myterious birds are displayed in a ballet dancer
Dancing into our emotions with their romantic artisticpower
Transforming our souls with delightful moves bringing us into harmony
With a brilliant performance of balance, control and technical flexibility
The beautiful dying swan pours its heart out as death draws near
Greeting this with an exceptional beautiful ending balladeer
Its modulated voice singing the swan-song of death so sweet
This harmonious sound can be heard as its last creative piece
The crown retain the ownership to all unmarked mute swans
A ceremony takes place once a year and lasts for five days long
Swan upping is a tradition dated back to the twelfth century
Markers row up and down the rivers paying tribute to the Queen
In England they’re a protected species and owned by Her Majesty
The wing spans on these wonderful birds can extent to several feet
These sacred aquatic birds male and female cobs and pens
Those little cygnets and swanlings on a swan lake that never ends
© Copyright KC.Leake
8th December 2014
All Rights Reserved
he grew up like anyone else
he was just the same
except
he was blest
to know the name
of the black and white seabird
with the blubber layer
and when that bird went down
he said a prayer
there was no sound
none
that anyone could hear
but
he felt the Secret Penguin's presence near
it's true
that waddling wonder was never found
that polar pirate
had gone underground
not to swim with the whales, sharks and fishes
but to continue to fulfill
children's wishes
those who had expected to see the last of him
had been reduced to so much
chum
smarter
than any other kind of waterfowl
he was wiser
than a great horned owl
the world
would see his vengeance reign
the Secret Penguin
was back again
Once upon a budding arcadian green
a last veil winter hoar melts on the bud -
Romney low country lambs fattened to wean
chew in flocks upon the ruminant cud.
In the tea trees to the whistling song thrush
I alone hear that first September dawn,
and outside beyond ryegrass, fern and rush
glisten woolly coats of sheep early shorn.
Oh to feel again its warm gentle breeze
on greensward and dryads in the gnarled trees.
But upon the altar of this season’s new day
so a spring offering is born a prey.
In stone moss stream, wild aromatic grass,
the sleeping flower does the sun invite
but an ancient blood moon shall come to pass
on the shadows of day and dark of night.
Soon the muster will shatter a false peace
in cornucopia of herd and bloom -
nigh the yard gates will fill with milky fleece
and only finest wool spin on the loom.
Oh to feel again its warm gentle breeze
on greensward and dryads in the gnarled trees.
But upon the altar of this season’s new day
so a spring offering is born a prey.
Smell the petrichor and jade scented hedge,
the lambs, the honeybees in pollen’s net -
that botany of sights and sounds and fledge
of young and new moonrise to moonset.
The morepork on night hunt moonlit prowl
casts its eye and spreads its speckled wing -
and in the mists see swamphens and waterfowl
rise again the prismatic dawn of spring.
Written: August 1989
Far out to sea in the great expanse of water an island lies
Shaped like a crescent or bulls horns called the islands of the moon.
White sands blown by gentle winds and washed by azure sea
Lush forests filled with abundant shrubs and every fruiting tree.
Animals roar and squeak some crawl and slither by
The cool thermal air with everything that can fly.
The outer ridge is like a sheer cliff wall where gannets dive,
While within the crescent is calm and peace as gentle breakers roll.
Clear green water with no weed clog shelter exquisite reef
Where turtles come ashore at night to lay their precious eggs.
Sea maids stretch out on the sands and sing their wandering song
And passing whales reply with notes ponderous and long.
Butterflies in glorious colour, cloud and gather in flittery throng
While hummingbirds buzz and sup sweet nectar juice all day long.
Caterpillars smoking hooka pipes sending smoky tendrils high,
Moths both small and mighty trying to be the best in the sky.
Within the central island a lough spreads and expands,
Where waterfowl of everykind swim with nests close at hand.
There is a mountain tall that towers over them all,
Caring and protecting from stormy weather squall.
His name is not known to mortals like you and I.
His children alone know to pronounce it you would die.
The islands of the Moon lie far out in the great sea,
Tales alone are all we know as no eye has ever seen.
Sailors, pirates and all who sail the mighty seas of the world,
Under darken sky and myriad star all tell of something odd
When on a misty night as the doldrums have taken hold,
Sometimes can be heard the song of sea maids bold.
To search all the seas would take a lifetime or more,
Better to be safe asleep in hammock till ye snore.
(C) Andrew Mcintyre
He grew up like anyone else. He was just the same -
except, he was blest to know the name
of the black and white seabird with the blubber layer,
and when that bird went down, he said a prayer.
There was no sound, none that anyone could hear,
but he felt the Secret Penguin's presence near.
It's true, that waddling wonder was never found.
That polar pirate had gone underground -
not to swim with the whales, sharks and fishes -
but to continue to fulfill children's wishes.
Those who had expected to see the last of him,
had been reduced to so much chum.
Smarter than any other kind of waterfowl,
he was wiser than a great horned owl.
The world would see his vengeance reign.
The Secret Penguin was back again.
Bird of Prey
On Banyon Lake, where waterfowl dwell,
The night was tranquil and held no fear.
Until came a sound ascended from Hell.
I heard a menacing cry as I drew near.
Upon the shore no wave did break.
No whispers on the wind were heard.
Nor was there a splash on the lake.
From any waterfowl or roosting bird.
The anxious cooing of mated doves
Cried out a warning on this ominous night
They heard the screech from far above,
And trilled warning of a hungry bird in flight.
A mother swan, at the edge of the lake,
gathered her chicks beneath her wings.
It was a time to stay alert and awake.
In the face of danger, no bird dared sing.
The predator hovered high in the sky.
I saw her shadow blanket the moon.
With yet another shrill, piercing cry,
I heard the faint wail of a single loon.
There was movement among the reeds.
The hunter circled in search of her prey.
Her only focus was to fulfill her need
Before dark gave way to light of day.
Talons lowered, she opened her beak.
Again she screamed from great height.
Eyes focused on the fish she did seek.
Upon her wings, reflected moonlight.
Down she plunged with swiftest speed.
With keen senses she was able to snare
The prize that would sate her needs,
And enough to feed her fledgling pair.
With a flap of wings she rose in the sky.
A fish clutched in the grip of her claws.
All the birds were safe. I let out a sigh.
Fulfilled was Mother Nature's basic law.
A stilt legged egret came out of hiding.
Swans craned their necks in a swoon.
Doves continued their calls and chiding.
A nightingale whistled a joyous tune.
On Banyon Lake, where waterfowl dwell,
All was peaceful, serene, and still.
Upon the water, silver moonbeams fell.
The bird of prey had eaten her fill.
Ogden Nactyl
It's hard to keep your dignity intactyl
when confronted by a pterodactyl.
In Praise of Toms
Dorsey, Dooley, Sawyer, Thumb -
names for Tom are never dumb.
Gracing the arc of history,
it was Tom who declared us free.
Unfortunate Math History
When Euclid visited the square,
he brought his straight edge there.
Descartes wasn't so encumbered
but his days were numbered.
Every Egg
Every time an egg is fried,
it's so difficult to decide
over easy or over hard,
and, so, in this regard,
my conscience is my guide.
Sometimes a Nut
Considering a hot fudge Sundae,
or a delightful fruit parfait,
I ask myself the question, "What...
would this be without a nut?"
Every One of You's a Nut
It takes each one of you to make a whole
as you mix together in a bowl.
Almond, cashew, peanut too,
It's not the same without any of you.
I proudly say and shovel you in my gut,
every one of you's a nut.
El Condor Nutty
Apologies to Paul Simon, and apologies to myself,
pacifist, vegetarian, and slave to rhymes.
I visited my trusty tool shed,
where I heard a voice that softly said,
"I'd rather be a hammer than a nail".
It's words like these that move me without fail.
So, I sharply struck that nail upon its head.
For exercise, I took to my feet,
and heard, "I'd rather be a forest than a street".
As I briskly continued my walk,
I hoped these things would not keep up their talk.
Then I ordered a burger for a bite to eat,
and said, "I hope you're a happy piece of meat".
Dyson Duckworth
Dyson Duckworth cleared the air...
of impurities no longer there,
so filthy and so foul.
What's this to do with the price of waterfowl?
Go ask a wise old owl.
Cooler breezes give us relief from the stifling heat,
A signal autumn is coming, and summer is in full retreat.
Leaves on the trees turn yellow, orange, red and brown,
As the days grow shorter, they eventually find their way to the ground.
As temperatures continue to cool, animals prepare for the cold months ahead,
Birds, reptiles, and mammals make ready for longer nights and shorter days instead.
Diminished daylight triggers an internal clock,
Signaling waterfowl to fly south, virtually non-stop.
Monarch butterflies commence migrating to their winter home,
Flying thousands of miles, their wings beating in cadence to an internal metronome.
As days pass, daylight shrinks and nighttime expands,
Driven by the earth’s voyage around the sun as we have come to understand.
As the outdoor world starts changing, all plants and animals adjust,
Preparing for the formidable winter ahead is a necessity, a must.
Plants start dropping seeds while animals gather food stores - their pre-winter haul,
It’s that time of year again, a time we call Fall.