Marshland Poems | Examples

war in the swampland

most violent war
a marshland for the masses
crocodiles eat

loving their fodder
dragging corpses in water
hiding evidence

Dead World

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

Sunrise

The sun rises slowly here,
fingers of sunlight
lifting his body over the wall
of marshland to check
on his children.

Insects' Insecurities

If you see some ants, you will
A) trample them under your feet
B) feed them with leftover sweet
C) turn them into a yum treat
D) watch them catwalk down the street

If you see mosquitoes, you'll
A) swat them away with your hand
B) give them blood as they command
C) guide them back to their marshland
D) listen to their jazzy band

If you see a spider, you'll
A) watch it knit silken cobweb
B) honour it like a celeb
C) squash it with your broomstick's web
D) let it live till time will ebb

If you see a worm, you will
A) watch it wriggle and squiggle
B) poke it with stick and giggle
C) let it be free to wiggle
D) flatten it, no more jiggle

If you see cockroaches, you'll
A) let them dine on your cooked food
B) fry them deep or have them stewed
C) order them out, being rude
D) kill them and their growing brood



11th Feb 2023

For Suzanne Delaney's "Multiple choice poem" contest

Panthera Tigris

To them most stealthy, most noble, most fierce,
  chased and trophied by a mightier foe;
striped jungle beast with eyes and claws that pierce -
  O white coated emperor in the snow.
Now it’s the hunter turned hunted - great cat
  whose wild prowl is driven to higher ground,
but this I shame to hear, and more than that,
  no man should follow where tigers are found.
The captive cub, the zoo, the circus cage
  will not the untamed roar save to cherish -
in irony of our extinction age
  that which makes you mighty makes you perish.
A world without all is a world less grand
when less roamed is the forest and marshland.


             Written: February 1991

Unpleasant Pest Land

steamy marshland teems
breeding mosquitos and flies
stagnate brown water

written June 13, 2021

Blue-Green Bird

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

Speaking the Language

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

Quality In the Face of Morality

Morality, it's 'good' it's 'grand' and works to some degree.
But sometimes for us it leads to marshland or tragedy.
Why so you ask? Does it not complete and compel the task?
It hinders as often the 'right' thing needs to be waited for and unmasked.
It is not the shining truth that leads to many good deeds and for time and time it has not treated me equally,
I ignored the value of virtue and listened and partook in it frequently,
True it stands that the building blocks have some quality where humans have found gravity,
But It's more what you do and how you acknowledge why they exist with sanity that makes things good and grand in reality. 

Morality Poetry Contest, Mark Koplin

A Frog Adores a Bog

Sky squeezes wet clouds and showers drip
through fingers and drop on earth’s grip.

Drops peer through nerve ends to starving earth’s soul;
soul fills in and crust moistens
and drops slip on her skin.

Brooks fill in, fields spill; canals feel thrilled;
crabs bounce, fish pounce and cranes feel chilled;
trees bend their heads, their hands and their arms;  
sap oozes through their stems, roots and palms.
 
brooks pump the river
river spills and floods marshland ~
frog adores a bog
-------------------------------
                                                 
Crystalline: 9/8; Kimo: 10/7/6; Couplet (9 syllables in each line) and 
Haiku: 5/7/5. Posted on Verse 

*A 2nd Place*in the following contest (judged on Dec. 7, 2020)

Dec. 1, 2020
FUSION Poetry Contest
Contest Sponsor: Brian Strand 

*A 3rd Place* in the following contest (judged on Sept. 20, 2020)

September 10, 2020 
Writing Challenge - Nature, Four in One - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France

Had My Fill

Sad indeed the tears we shed in hollow marshland 
streams,
bad vibes worsen childhood fears, they shatter midnight dreams,
mad at tactless ghostly jeers and oddball moonlight beams, 
had my fill of twilight years when chasing eye blind schemes,
fad disowned by trendy peers who look quite miffed it seems, 
glad I’m one with bright careers and happy prospect teams

Silence of the Butterflies

As sunrise silently
marinaded morningtide meadows,
our lips flowed like two streams,
merging within an exclusive estuary

so we set home upon the river bed.

At first we floated like butterflies in Babylon,
deaf to the squawks of mercenary crows,
blind to the creeping weeds,
which wandered amongst delicate petals

nor did I notice our submerging embankment.

As our estuary began to evaporate,
you left me stranded in the silt and mud.
My heart, once a blossoming garden,
evolved into a wasteland of sedges and sludge.

Still I wait for soothing streams to return,
but all I am left with is marshland of regret

and the silence of the butterflies.

Marshland

The Marshland
In the middle of the fen where the soil is full of rotting foliage, 
roots of tree from the time the land was a forest, 
a dam where ducks swim and as is the way of ducks noisy in 
their chatter with each other, social bird with no musicality 
I mean have you ever heard of an opus titled: 
“When the ducks sing in Covent garden.” 
Yet they like it here and can spot a Cheney miles away and 
thus avoid getting water-boarded. We used to go there 
the farmer and we dug into wet soil square sized turfs 
which dried in the sun and in the fall we had carts full and 
primordial roots that burned brightly when snow fell outside

Water's Edge Where Memories Float Down the Stream

When I look at yonder sky in the setting sun
while walking on a path by the water’s edge
following memories as it floats down the stream,
I saw tinged autumnal leaves beckoning me
on the hill behind my old home. 

The footmarks piled to grow high as my height
and they sway in the chilling wind 
with reeds by a marshland,
I am standing by a riverside
that I left behind my home
reddened in the evening glow.

October Bliss

each gesture flickers

blazing multicolored tones

huffed breaths sing of olden notes

October shimmers

on marshland pathways bound to gleam

before winter shifts to white



Contest: October Bliss or November Dreams
7 Oct 14

• Short Marshland Poems
• Famous Marshland Poems
• Best Marshland Poems
• Read Marshland Poems
• Long Marshland Poems
• Marshland Quotes