Marshlands Poems | Examples

Pumpkin Head

La bruja hechicera, 
with an impious hex,
from the marshlands 
beneath a foul swampy 
grave, she indeed 
summon Pumpkin Head.

Rage is how his master 
wheels revenge; For the
harsh reckless fatal end
of some young spirit slain.
His Abyss fiend ghastly nights
of vengeance spreads.

'Tis best, no wise,
to kneel in silent prayer.
Repent for it's the only tool
that might soothe
the impinging gloom
of dark that looms.

For those he stalks
don't stand a chance;
Reaper's minion seeks
to quench his thirst with
the bloody-blugent preys,
la hechicera dooms.

Sinners atone, when fate
confronts ones wicker fort
of faith that rots.
When weapons and screams
like wood ablaze, excite
his callus, morbid heart.

For condemned are those
who bear her mark.
He's spawned to dissecting hunt.
The next dawn are found;
Heads severed.... 
with bods from limbs apart.

I Loved My Life

I paint in series; same motif – haystacks, trees, cathedrals, water lilies.
normandy inspired many pencil sketches of sailing ships.
aunt Marie-Jeanne encouraged me; she was a generous painter.
boudin encouraged me to paint in open air, which was unheard of.

I worked with Renoir for a few months; we had similar tastes and canvases.
called them bad sketches, the beginning of the Impressionist period.
neverland called to me where I painted canals, boats, tulips and windmills.
I practiced drawing and painting an identical motif over and over.

best decision I ever made was to buy the marshlands across the road.
diverted the stream, creating a gorgeous new water lily garden.
weeping willows, iris and bamboo shot up, entertaining my paint brush.
meditated and painted there until I died at the happy age of eighty-six.

Before the day turns into night - NFC

Before the day turns into night
Bullfrogs quietly rehearse their “harrumphs”
Dragonflies draw slowly closer to shore
Mosquitoes hone their epees
Bats line the runway awaiting take off
In the lengthening shadows an owl rolls its neck
As field mice roll the dice
A lone muskrat leaves no wake
The marshlands chorus warms up

Kestrel

Sailing up and down the sky
Hovering over the moist heathers
Soaring and sliding high
Dawning grey and brown feathers.

Spreading her wings with expertise
Unfurling her stripped tail,
She glides through the wind with ease
Looking as light as the dancing gale.

A descendant of voracious predators 
She dives sharp down to her prey,
She possesses the vitality of deadly raptors
There is no chance of her catch getting away. 

She nests in aspens at the edge of a meadow
You can find her in the marshlands,
She may also be at the swamp out your window
But it is the open wild that she demands. 


12th March 2023

Contest: Writing Challenge K words 
Sponsored by Constance La France

General Mud

Best of them fail to plan safe retreat, 
Napoleon and Hitler both were hit, 
Both marooned in marshlands— 
Ukraine sure well defends, 
General Mud doing its mighty bit! 
________________________________ 
Happenings |02.03.2022| Limerick 

Poet’s Note: Marshlands formed by melting snow can thwart mightiest of armies. In 1812 Napoleon’s army got bogged down in it on its way back. The same fate awaited Hitler on his march to Moscow more than a century later, and later still, Russia’s counter offensive in 1943. Yet, those that fail to learn from history….., we know what happens. What Russian invaders did, one lone general called Mud might undo. Let’s wait and watch.

Wings On the Water

My dear birds, an inspiration putting quill to paper

I love the way you're chased as waves crash on the beach

Invading my warm days and balmy summer nights

Dreams about the whoosh of grasses in the marshlands.

I’m enamored with the sudden swoosh your wings

Your warble is much quieter through the summer heat.

As the calm fog hides the ocean sprays of November,

you take flight migrating through the drizzle in a southern sky.

And winter shows her whipping winds on the wave crests.

Honking geese leave lonely feathers upon still waters.

Your wing beats, wing beats, fluttering make my days

During strolls on windswept dunes in February.

I walk the paths with a chill in my heart but;

spring quickens my step as I hear a chirp in the brush.

'Onomatopoeia ' Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
10/15/2021

Down In New Orleans

Way down south near the marshlands,
near the bayous, and close to the lake.
There is a city with its old wonders.
A place where no one barely sleeps.

Parties move up and down the cobbled streets.
The brass bands play that swinging jazz music. 
That smell of the creole and cajun food wafting in the air.
Muggy with that southern heat,
History and legends made this spot worldly known.

With the stories of vampires and voodoo, 
and hauntings that frighten the people who visit.
Pirates that came and left their mark,
and a voodoo queen who ruled it all.

Food, festivals, and fairs bring everyone here.
That mixture of blood and culture.
African, French, and Spanish.
The cajun rhythm makes them dance.

Deep down in New Orleans,
where Mardi Gras never dies,
the spirits you feel deep inside,
this site is one of a kind.

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

Fistsful of Dust

down the path of broken promises 
up the stream’s misguided dreams

shoulders burdened crushed and rounded
by all accounts tallied and squared off

countless breaths and tears held back
while chilling fears explode unhinged

tossed plans and schemes to wispy clouds
deep in marshlands of futility hope lies 

armsful of useless forgotten treasure
fistsful of dust cast out to all four winds

tomorrow’s sunrise stretching
over stray clearings of blue skies

but tonight under the canopy of stars
love no longer will be denied



Read on air by invitation  ~  April 9, 2021  'LATE NIGHT POETS'

AP: 2nd place 2021

POTD - March 30, 2021

Submitted on March 28, 2021 for contest PHOENIX RISING sponsored by UNSEEKING SEEKER  -  RANKED 4TH

My Brother

Livers
	bleed

lungs	
	gasp for breath


vessels of poetry
	read

pain disappears
	tears recede

love floats above the sea
	tides of sadness

recede
	planted in marshlands

seeds
	friendship bloomed

living for words
	no longer matters

I embrace my brother
	love his might

standing on cliffs ledge
	gazing this new morn

softly I whisper
	we are one

Nightstorm

So I find myself once again in the shadow of the crescent moon
Back to the marshlands in the throes of an ancient gossamer
Forest...well I can still hear your voodoo beckoning the sprits
And I too can feel the power here where I stand as lightning
Flashes and reveals the silhouettes of the undead walking these
Cursed and sacred grounds and as the thunder rolls it almost
Drowns out the drums echoing sounds...I take refuge at St. Mary’s
Over the way and here in the candlelight is where I'll stay 'til
The break of day for I know I'll be safe here until the Nightstorm
Ends although I too shake as violent as the walls bend from
The furious winds and the Zombies trying to get in but I have
Faith in the Lady and that she'll keep me safe from them and
This ominous Nightstorm as when dark turns into light again
I'll just have to ride out this Nightstorm a couple more hours and
See this nightmare to the end!

Nightstorm

So I find myself once again in the shadow of the crescent moon
Back to the marshlands in the throes of an ancient gossamer
Forest...well I can still hear your voodoo beckoning the spirits
And I too can feel the power here where I stand as lightning
Flashes and reveals the silhouettes of the undead walking these
Cursed and sacred grounds and as the thunder rolls it almost
Drowns out the drums echoing sounds...I take refuge at St. Mary’s
Over the way and here in the candlelight is where I'll stay 'til
The break of day for I know I'll be safe here until the Nightstorm
Ends although I too shake as violent as the walls bend from
The furious winds and the Zombies trying to get in but I have
Faith in the Lady and that she'll keep me safe from them and
This ominous Nightstorm as when dark turns into light again
I'll just have to ride out this Nightstorm a couple more hours and
See this nightmare to the end!

Strawberry Poison Dart Frog

Strawberry poison dart frog,
also called  a blue jean morph,
strawberry-red,
orange-red,
blue or black lower parts,
which are found in most parts of central and south america,
diurnal, brightly colored,
aposematic patterns,
warning potential predators,
living amongst the rainforest,
high altitude shrubland,
flooded grassland they wander,
through montanes and rivers,
lakes and swamps,
amongst the trees above the ground,
secreting toxins through their skin,
as they rummage,
again and again, 
through the marshlands.

The Smartest Ones

Dogs are the smartest ones
in all of the animal kingdom,
they've been man's best friends
since Man began to roam.


It's a great feeling to have one,
also very sad to lose one as I did...
the indelible memories on grasslands
and wild wind while riding my horse.   


My black hound with a white spot
on his head was the fastest one,
other dogs couldn't match up
to the stamina of this canine.   


When I looked out to the marshlands,
I heard him sniff through the high grass
and with a bark he guided me through the haze,
in frog-infested water, I found a deer in a daze.
  

The young deer looked up and emitted a sight of relief
knowing that a brave dog had saved him,
I gave him water and he drank it all...
then he got up and ran in the stillness of Fall.   


Many rescue missions I successfully accomplished,
saving rabbits, birds, wildcats and squirrels
and without the help of Lucky and his intelligence
I wouldn't have been rewarded and honored.

Monsoon Fest: a Nonet

""""""""(((('''''''''''


auburn light tickling mystic marshlands
on thin rafts kissing noon's delight
husky day  lifts grasses’ hems
cradling petals on palms,
herons dance astray
a dizzy feast
all flowers
soaking
wine

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all rights reserved
            ©



for Brian Strand's "Poem From Year First Year... Contest"
from nette onclaud

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