i bring home
the soul of wetland -
muddy shoes
-- Souvenirs of Silence, Soman Gouda
Categories:
wetland, england, metaphor, solitude,
Form: Haiku
as swallows land and swifts take flight
inside late noon’s last shards of light
the chill winds that descend on day
cause dense green swathes of reeds to sway
across the flooded vista’s ground
in harmony with nature’s sound
of shrills that echo through the air
from birds and insects everywhere
while stars with room to breathe and shine
light up a land divorced from time
to show the beauty and true worth
of life in balance here on earth.
Categories:
wetland, earth, environment, imagery, nature,
Form: Rhyme
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 our speed, the air boat soon hurtles
Until we reach a fairly secluded lush-covered glade
Hoping to see a cottonmouth searching for prey,
After considerable time in the sun, loving the shade
Unfortunately, for the snake the wrong time of day.
Our lunch is ham sandwiches and a frosty cold beer
As our guide points out a meadow-like field ahead,
Where we’ll likely see a smaller herd of mule deer
And, there the ravishing crocodiles waiting to be fed.
Written June 22, 2022
Categories:
wetland, adventure, animal, appreciation, nature,
Form: Rhyme
The April morning's quiet
and so is the November.
Wherever people outnumber trees
or the dominant cover type
is unquiet. Nothing wrong with that.
Walt got it right, and Jane Jacobs:
the city is an experienced,
used beauty. Her toes are long,
nails thick and hair thin. Yet
her kisses can be sweet; or
smell of ****. All my life I've tried to point my window toward
some narrow wedge of nature.
On Seaman Ave., over the roof
beyond the chimneys to the park
where every dog was walked.
Could I survive soot and an air shaft now, pigeons and cats,
or even a desk in the legislature for my lot in life. How about
prison like Etheridge Knight,
Nazim Hikmet?
I've gotten soft.
When he builds that house in the pocket
wetland my window now looks out on,
the developer will have given me what I need.
Amphibian mortality,
gravel, fill,
oak, ash and maples felled. Good
to the last drop is our bitterness, our love.
Categories:
wetland, april, beauty, kiss, love,
Form: Free verse
Conceived in nineteen forty six
By naturalist, Sir Peter Scott,
This wetland paradise now thrives
And teems with ducks and geese and swans.
The wild geese drew Scott to the marsh,
The flood plain of the river Severn,
Where countless wintering wildfowl stop
Upon their migratory journey.
There’re nine varieties of swan
And more than twenty types of geese,
Not to mention ducks by the dozen
With varying plumage through the seasons.
Flamingos, elegant on stilts,
Gather gregariously together.
They make a brilliant splash of colour,
Frome palest pink to brightest orange.
Some stars will often steal the show –
The friendly Nene (Hawaiian Goose);
No fear of man, almost extinct,
Till Scott encouraged breeding pairs.
That shrill cacophony of sound
Which drifts across the shining lake
Is made by happy Whistling Ducks
That yearn to share their thrill of life !
Andean Geese in regal splendour,
Proud pairs that strut upon the shore,
Each one so full of self-importance
That smaller ducks will keep well clear.
Our visit now is near its end;
We bid farewell to feathered friends
And leave with glowing memories
Of Slimbridge on the Severn marsh.
Categories:
wetland, bird, environment, water,
Form: Blank verse
I am a wetland ,
To the lotus and fish, and dreams.
But my bridle from iron and
My horse from wood.
,
Twenty centuries in my blood,
Full of amok ,fire and war .
O my sorrow heart,
The lashes hurt and the silence
They rushed your death.
,
I thought your shield from iron,
So I left, the arrows of treachery,
Pleasure of aiming.
Oh my heart's delusions ..
How can you run over the flames?
,
You were a land of joy
You were a bird dances on
The top of mountains.
,
Ah what a stone that hit my heart
I became a land of oppression,
I became a land of sorrow.
,
Tell me O God ..
Who will bring back to me, the smell of lotus
And dreams?
Categories:
wetland, sad,
Form: Free verse
under overcast sky
dead timber becomes nourished
render to wetland
Copyright © 2010 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Categories:
wetland, nature
Form: Haiku