‘Waupaca Awakens’
The thin ice cracks
As daylight breaks,
Along the still waters
Of a chain of lakes
Melting snow and slush
Both lapping the pier,
Letting the bluegill know
A new season is near
North of the place
The first sound is heard,
A sign of change is ...
The red-winged blackbird
Their call from the birch
Is melodic and shrill,
Carried on the winds
Of winter's last chill
Leaves of the maple
Needles of the pine,
Rustle in the breeze
Shiver down their spine
Timid, black bear cubs
And white-tailed fawns,
Welcome one of many
Warm, springtime dawns
Mallards in the distance
Returning geese overhead,
Spotted calves yawning
In their fenced in bed
Much seasonal beauty
One small town did regain,
All of Waupaca awakens
From meadow to Main.
(4/4/24)
2nd Place
"Waupaca Awakens with Poetry" Poetry Contest
waupacaarts.org/waupaca-poetry-contest-winners-1
(Just a note for those who may not know ... Waupaca is a small town in the state of Wisconsin, not far from where I live. Their annual poetry contest was held recently and I placed 2nd with this poem ... )
This December day that feels like March or April
Beckons me down to my old thoughtful spot
To the bench on the hill above the lake
Where I have discovered poems waiting for me
Behind me, the oaks are alive
With a red-winged blackbird raucous
Below me, a solitary doe grazes the tender
Emerald green left where the waters receded
"Hello, deer!" I call out to her, waving
She looks up, dewdrop eyes and ears
Like petals turned toward me curiously
A mariposa lily blooming toward my light
I feel the woodpecker’s fervent knock inside my ribcage
And the everywhere croak of a single unseen frog
Is the creak of a door I never meant to close
Slowly opening again, letting it all back in
The moss on my heart is cool in the winter sun
The lace lichen holds my dreams among the trees
And there is a brand new poem waiting for me
"Hello, dear," I say again, and this time I am sincere.
the prickly-eyed coneflower bees
attractively buzzing their squeeze.
the purple petal umbrellas.
a lovely echinacea breeze.
butterflies and hummingbirds hove’.*
red-winged blackbird, high perched above,
does shelter in Eden, his brood.
cones teem with life, vivacious love.
8/24/2022
Eight Lines of Rhyme - Your Favorite Flower
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Rhymes checked with rhymezone
aaba rhyme scheme
*hove’ - hover
Late April and only
coltsfoot—Tussilago farfara—breaking leaf litter.
Our daffodils, peonies and crocuses
are also making signs.
April is the cruelest month, I forget why.
A sweet slow Spring
no sudden changes
each leg and leaf unfolds deliberately. You can't miss it.
New York City's spring rushes like a yellow cab
into summer. One day leaves are wet,
next they’re leather. I prefer this slow dance,
birds mating on the sky, peepers evolving into frogs.
Repairs take weeks or months. Septic,
garage door, cracked windshield, clean windows,
build bridge, buy land, rake leaves off erosion control,
cut wood, prune lilac, paint lawn chairs.
More carefully inspect, identify, the insect
of the week, a fly with an ant’s body
that skirts the grass and falls in drinks.
Look more closely! It will be gone in a few days!
Then it will be the time of moths or fireflies,
mosquitoes and wasps. Mud road,
red-winged blackbird. The slashing stream
topples old trees. My legs hurt.
Long to touch the rows u p o n rows of coneflowers,
but the bees, they b u z z, and the butterflies own.
Favorite intrepid host, the red-winged blackbird, towers
over the purpleness of his downturned petal throne.
Eyes flit back and forth as g o l d e n splashes cool
the p i n e y pond of koi. Serenity of zephyr scent
sends introspective id swimming like this school —
no longer in this worrisome world, exhaustion spent.
Traverse the paths of no work, no play - merely a b a n d o n
to holly bushes, lady slippers, roses with whimsical names.
Snowball hydrangeas, blueberries like goose pimples - stand in
the nether of shadow and sun, the hometown of God’s acclaim.
Close my eyes - bluster of multicolored petals from the sky,
cover my i n v i s i b l e frame… uninvited flocks gather
in an undecided decade of “don’t know when or why.”
P o s t u r i n g — shan’t get myself in a botanical lather.
Have faith, the untouchables are thriving with grace,
waiting for the usual feet to pass time, adorn this place.
7/31/2020
Silent one’s Petal, buds, blossoms, bees, birds, butterflies! Poetry Contest
It snowed last night
and spring’s nascent shades
were hidden under a sky of lead,
the cedars, green, cloaked
by a blanket of snow white
framed by tree trunks black.
The swollen stream ran brown not clear,
but the dogwood glistened shiny red
and the Red-winged Blackbird
flared his epaulets of scarlet and yellow
and with his conk-la-ree! loudly proclaimed
his territory in hopes of attracting
a frumpy female who yet malingers
in warmer climes.
a red-winged blackbird
quiescent as a flower
until he's riled up
the breeze of his wings
majestic, dictorial
tourist nudged onward
depressed cone flower
with heaviness of his form
far above the nest
the sentry's hawk-eyes
sharp and alert to movement
in city's garden
meanwhile the gal
shares her snapshot and story
over and over
the beauty and rage
of this handsome specimen
illuminated
3/8/2019
perched on purple coneflower, red-winged blackbird darkens nest
5/31/2018
*darkens - makes less clear
Red-winged Blackbird
Look! There in the bulrushes,
Perched at an angle to the reed,
Is the Red-winged Blackbird
Keeping a close watch on his territory.
How do I know it’s a “he”? Easy.
By the jet-black plumage
And the red and yellow epaulettes
That distinguish him from a “she.”
The female’s feathers are rustic colours
With white patches underneath
And white streaks on the back and wings
That blend in with the surroundings.
See! I spot her sitting in the nest,
All snuggled in, keeping her eggs warm.
Quiet—not moving, not wanting
Anyone to know where she is.
Listen! And hear his three-syllable
“Conk-la-ree” cry piercing the air,
Which can only mean one thing to his mate:
Love! And he will be there for her.
Slowly, I back away,
Not wanting to create a disturbance
Or cause undue stress
For the birds.
I.
The red winged blackbird knows how hard it is for me to connect with humans.
But I can still share my joy over this bird with my mom, who is dying for a way in.
II.
I was just told today by my teacher that I have a learning disability.
I was sad, confused. But my mom, she was “furious” when she heard.
She’s a real go-getter, too, and she went and got them,
Made them stop calling me that.
But now, things are worse.
Teacher Brett doesn’t help me anymore.
He’s helping some other kid.
Things are much harder now.
III.
My name is Betsy and I’m 25-years old.
I love Panda Express orange chicken more than anyone else on the planet.
It isn’t the fanciest restaurant but it’s cheap and I can walk to it. (I hate cooking.)
Without the spirit of inclusion,
The persistence of my parents,
And my high school “inclusion facilitators,”
I’d most likely be institutionalized or in some group home.
Instead I give speeches to crowds of fancy adults
About the power of not giving up, the power of support,
And the path of independence it has provided me.
(Straight to the orange chicken.)
a red winged blackbird
barked a sermon
from a cattail pulpit
It started with the usual
crows, grackles, starlings,
even the chickadees
were appropriately capped.
Broken up a bit by
a red winged blackbird
and again by cardinal.
But in the woods,
early Mourning Cloaks flitted
while a turkey vulture
circled overhead.
Our black dog plunged
into the ice free pond
but the tawny only dabbled,
then both soaked
the bottom of my jeans.
On a nearby clothesline
a little black dress flapped,
as winter’s hair was shorn
from newly silky legs.
Two Red Pines outside my
Window stand ready every day
Bristling with long needles
And runkled cones, still young
My first sound upon awakening
…..The sweet seeee---sawww
Of the Red Winged Blackbird,
Migrating home
Soon, the swamp I navigate daily
On my walk will fill with
Feathered friends-
All of us excited by emerging
Cattails….
Comforted, together
03/04/12
All the nature was calm and quiet,
Walks amongst the beautiful green environment.
The sun rose behind a cloudy, blue, sky.
Peered through the tall angular trees.
The conservation area alive with mallard ducks swimming on the lake,
Geese tall, a white and gray black in appearance.
Sounds of nature could be heard,
A blue jay or a red winged blackbird,
Frogs sitting on an old log,
The view from the hill, reverent and sacred.
A summer walk enhanced and beautiful,
Widflowers and bushes surround the lake.
God's beauty hidden,
To be discovered by humanity.
Conversations with relatives and companions,
Complimenting the bright day.
God's blessings continue at an enhanced level,
Filling my day with thankfulness.
Author: Gwen Meyer-Erlach Schutz
The call of the Lark
And the Red-Winged Blackbird
The rustle of grass
Over my left shoulder
And
Before us
The rippling brook
The shimmering trees
And
The depth of you silence
As you
Not far away
Think on other things
This I take back with me
To the noise of the city
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