Marsh Poems

Our Californian Marsh

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

Love is a Quiet Verb

When love is too loud, and lurid,
it languishes in lewd, lusty lakes.

When love is silent, and steadfast,
it sings sweetly with soft waves on sea shores.   

When love is motionless and mute, 
it meanders to black mold and makes miserable, monotonous marshes.

So let me
 love thee silently, softly,
with actions, 
with adjectives and valiant verbs.

Toasted Marsh Ghosts

let’s toast some ghosts, the witch said to me.
Her hair was as red as the devil’s sea.
I had no words, but wondered what she meant.
when I saw it, I was lost in wonderment.

You are really toasting ghosts! I exclaimed.
I told you she said to me, her hair inflamed.
The ghosts were booing, hissing, and stuff.
She said

Into the Marsh

A dusty quiver lay on my back
Its arrows clean and sharp

I wade with purpose through itchy reeds
My boots dragging in the muck

I hear you before I see you
Your laugh collapsing the virgin marsh between us

A fistful of whites and yellows
My dear whites and yellows

Ready, steady
It’s no use!

For if I lose an arrow
My quiver will lighten

The Marsh View

My parents moved recently–
a nice place, marsh view,
plenty of trees and walking trails
a nice big kitchen for Scottish breakfasts.
Their deck upstairs looks out 
on the marsh water shining in the sun.
The aquatic landscape broken only
by the stilted legs of hungry herons.
The floorboards no longer creak
beneath my ocher footsteps
and I feel like a visitor here–tourist
Then I

Marsh Rabbit

Marsh rabbit
Jumping through the swamp 
Eating swamp grass and
other plant life 

Brown is their fur
so they can blend in
With their surroundings 
A good hiding technique 

Photogenic rabbits 
They stop moving 
just to blend in to
the landscape but
people still get their photo

Baby marsh rabbits are
the cutest things
So little you almost 
miss seeing them 

On the way

A Sacred Marsh

Here, the infant Day
In a misty hush
Lies, as swaddled.
Moses, among the reeds!
And the Nile's weeds.

No wind dares blow up.
Stirs, lapwing, leaf.
As duck, paddled.
Daughter of Eygpt's throne
Come claim your own!

Lunch In the Okeefenochee

Sluggish swamp water seeps through cypress knee
Looking for the reclusive crocodiles now infesting,
Our air boat skims along the edge of Okeefenochee
Where we spy a prehistoric-like alligator ingesting
What appears to be an unwary otter or fox squirrel
Our guide points out a log laden with sunning turtles
With the reptiles in the swamp, we have no quarrel,
As accelerating

Marsh View Enjoyment Haiku

whooping crane still waits
patiently amongst the marsh
knowing what shows up

Rod Marsh

Cricket in the 70s was great
When the future was up to a World Series fate
And Rod Marsh was one of Kerry Packer’s men
To get better paid was their demand

When the Chappells, Doug Walters, Lenny Pascoe and friends
Returned to cricket properly with fulfilled demands
We saw Thommo and Lillee bowling down
With Rod Marsh crouching where the cherry

Pussy Willows

Pussy Willows

Among the wild cattails marsh,
Wetlands mire and morass harsh,
Pussy Willow buds appear
In warm grey fur chase off winter’s jeers.

Close to streams they sink deep roots
Laps up milk of streamlet’s fruits
Vernal purr of perfection
Sacred siren of Resurrection.

2-8-22
Contest: A Poem Crafted In the Various Lind30 by Robert Lindley
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke

Syllable count 7779.  According to

When All's Well In Meadow and Marsh

When the sky is piercing blue
  and the ocean's the same color too
When the humidity's gone from the air
  and the temperature's not 'way up there'

When sun's rays are welcome, not harsh
  and all's well in meadow and marsh
When there are apples on the tree to munch
  and the forest is

Marsh Butterflies

I love to meander in a forest green

to discover nature and things growing wild

I love ferns all filigree and silent ponds

and moss hanging from trees

the hush of a marsh and birds and songs that exist there

in the deep shadows and the mellow tranquil hues  

I love to linger and just listen

to the voices of

Marsh Mellows and Butterfly Dreams

Sweet and sensual
 coconut melts along the top
 staggered familiar sizes and shapes 
 droolings on the tongue, ambrosia
running through the fields like fidgety children
 restless and free on tenterhooks
 flitting like butterflies on the hunt
 flower nectar candied on the bloom
drawn into the dream
 of marshmallowed confectionaries
 sweet sugared goodies 
 nectar for the

Me, Myself and Ice

Only the cold crunching
of the fresh snow bunching,
and the tired leather boots
as I take that first step

Can be heard right here
by no other frozen ear,
for away I rushed off
to find silence instead

And all that is harsh
exists not on this marsh,
where the only prying eyes
belong to birds and deer

The moment I did hesitate
to glide along my

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