"egret" poems
Listen my dear daughter, to my first song of caution
Earmarked for you my wonderful sire, come and listen,
That tall old man with white hair all over his head
Standing over there is not good; he is gnomish in the mind
Be careful with him, he is not human in the heart
But a mermaid of Yoruba poetry, just like Thespis of Greece
Even the pecuniary psychopomp of Sweden gave him an accolade
His heart is selfishly full of avarice; he wants everything for himself,
Don’t recite him any of your poetry, lest he spells an abyss
Against your juvenile poetic talent, he will fool you with a gift;
A white sheep or a scarlet goat for your birth day anniversary
Please don’t take it or anything else from him, as nothing from him is genuine
But only machinations of evil spell aimed at mahyeming your talent
Finally to decimate your girlhood and life, this is my caution
For you dear little African girl.
Listen my dear little daughter, to my second song of caution
That short man in a Muslim gear loafing yonder, is suspect
The Muslim beret on his head is merely a smokescreen to aghastly behaviour
He is in no way an avatar of god of love and humane piety
He is a terrorist working with Boko Haram and Algaeda
He is an Alshabab that is bombing young girls in Mombasa and Nairobi
All over Kenya he has killed the young people; his long egret-white sari is not for holiness,
It is merely a nefarious sanctum of grenades, other tools of work in terrorism trade
His loudly prayers, body movements and pocket bursting monies are only a stunt
To have you kidnapped into death conduit, once you goof to join his courts,
His sanctimony is a total picaresque film, (s)heroes of terror the centerpiece
And thus, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.
Listen my dear daughter, to my third song of caution
Those tourists thronging our streets are deadly *** pets, they also skulk ****
Their handsome outlook is not a stamp to any good conscientiousness
They derive pleasure from poverty and *** tourism; they yearn to see a girl in poverty,
Often rarely will they help an African girl, out of milieu of beggarly squalorism,
Instead they go straight for the purse between your thighs,
Regardless of the legacy they leave out of this lewdness, they are showy,
They regret not in their Byronic broadcast of *** and fatherless urchins in the poor streets
Foundation for their further poverty tourism, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
Now it's time to play. Nobody says,
like they used to, but in my bones
the desire overwhelms me. "Write!
Make a poem," say the bones.
The inlet will come first. It always does.
Water calls urgently, "egret." The waterbird
that moves elastically over the surface
making everything focus soon or late.
Now my hand enters. It always does.
It gives the bones reason to observe.
It makes the egret the finest thing in sight
and the water intelligent north of here.
Water is genius because it is interconnected.
Drop south knows drop north.
But the bones will lose their joy
if the bird overwhelms the old playground.
by Landis EVERSON
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC
By the pond, where the egret sleeps,
where the hawk flies overhead,
and the weeping willow weeps,
I will find my lullaby, to lull me to sleep.
By the pond, where the ducklings go,
back and forth, to and fro,
following mother, grey fuzz, all in a row,
I will walk unhurried, slow.
By the pond, on the grassy banks,
I will hum a tune under a cloudless sky.
Pass by the blue heron, and silently give thanks,
and while away the hours, and watch the seabirds fly.
By the pond, where the white swans glide,
I will shade my eyes from the sun’s bright rays,
as otters frolic, swim and hide,
unmindful of time in these last days.
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 5:27 PM UTC
eye cantaloupe
batshit Midas
writer's iambic
within usurp
ender's egret
wherewithal
nearly Mykonos
orangutan elsewhere
eye dye.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
Osprey flood-pathed junctures
in the
middle
of Paradise.
Overexposed and diluted
by the
sounds
of the missing heartbeat
and the
loneliness
of the beakless egret
we all feel.
The expression of
the sunlit
reflective pool,
for the
paradise
we know and sense
and understand.
Not quite at the
end of
earth,
but almost.
While the ball
of fire
exposed and
diminished,
flourishes to the
very end., and
awakens on the beaches
of Casey Key,
toward the dusk of
the beautiful day
in paradise…
I smile
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 3:16 AM UTC
In the mirror
the hickey looks like
lipstick. When I rub
my neck
her teeth stay
stuck like kissy lips
on mirrors
of girly girls.
On the surface
the blue-blood egret
and his
white-toothed egret
friend look like
enemies.
They share the lake’s
surface like comrades splitting a spliff
during war.
The mirror’s surface
reflects my haggard
face.
The kiss on my neck brings me pleasure
that is difficult to peck in the eddy formed after she swelled along my desire.
In the mirror:
his naked body
my naked body
like the cartilages
of comrades marching back
to their bombed base.
That night he finished quiet like the veteran
egret pecking his prey.
That night I spread––
the eddy after the prey was pecked. On my surface I can’t find any traces
of his breath or his pecks. The mirror’s surface reflects our haggard love––
tired of slithering away
from egret beaks
finding it difficult
to breathe
lifting its long neck
above the swell
in the eddy
in this sea.
Apr 6, 2020
Apr 6, 2020 at 11:08 AM UTC
Before a Creole love call, and a curdled Cajun moon
the bay water laps about pierrot, bay grass, and wading egret knuckle
Treading through his mucky labyrinthine mistress, and wind-knitted mire
beak prods pock, and inundate in the same instant
silt gilds his bill as he finally snaps about scaly sustenance
Sated
Wings boom and beckon in the darkness
Lift
Scooped in pearl beam, he commands the aeriform
An ether opus bellows about his form
Drying silt disintegrates from aerodynamic bill
Dribbling about in a forgotten slant in the darkness
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC
The woods have stored the rain, and slow comes the smoke
As rice is cooked on ******* and carried to the fields;
Over the quiet marsh-land flies a white egret,
And mango-birds are singing in the full summer trees....
I have learned to watch in peace the mountain morningglories,
To eat split dewy sunflower-seeds under a bough of pine,
To yield the post of honour to any boor at all....
Why should I frighten sea gulls, even with a thought?
1.6k
What is this somber aching that reminds me that I am here, as if the shining Sun warmed hearts but forgot me lying near
I tried to bask, and red pain was my reward.
I tried to draw that joy, and ended feeling bored.
The mood set by regret. a poised bird, an egret. Those stones churned and reset the feigned glow of the pulpit.
Shocked awed and shown it, an ever reaching feeling called content.
So play pain again, I'd really love to feel.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
A lakeside egret,
Curiously watches a peerie fish;
Forgets killer instinct.
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 9:44 PM UTC
Oh Glenda (Miz Gee gee)
years elapsed since, I didst hawk
verboten fruit adrip
from yar verdant bough,
thy strong craven raven
doth still twitter and flip
sans thy testosterone switch,
where woody pecker missus grip
ping re: egret ting prospective
relationship nixed thee
as gull friend material, hip
mistress, though heron eye did pay lip
service verily orgasmically quip
yes...wren doer ring
more'n commit Freudian slip
which peeping cardinal tip
towing thru nested tulip trip
gave balled oriole peck whip
ping lil *** pistol be
friending chirping ***** riot
inserting thingmabob
after pants sigh did un zip.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Egg gad unlike rob bin duck cradle
yar mature red breast all aswirl
asper a stationary dreidel
mammary ducts mine mouth pursed
yar ******* mine gums did ladle.
Only in memory, aye
hungrily thirst and thirstily hunger
fort deux aureole dye
still affecting this gab
bird, who didst deign
as milquetoast guy.
Whenever this birdman alone
his thoughts metaphorically drone
worm wayward toward
***** thatch, where
hello kitty doth purr and groan
of quintessentially
***** coiled hair moan
ning softly as thee
bared naked lady lies prone
admiring pinkish puckered
def flesh tone.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 2:44 AM UTC
wave-front
cloud-break
blue-grey-movement
~~~
below the wind
watching
Redwoods quiver
~~~
the hallowed wine glass
but ah!
the sweet on my lips
~~~
Fennel every Fall
through the chain link fence
~~~
the warmth of my lover
passed hand to hand
polished blue stone
~~~
dust
breaks the silence
sneezing
~~~
a Rose opens
aging
gracefully
~~~
proud Maple
among not yet
yellow Oaks
~~~
peninsulas
embrace the bay
wave-break kisses
~~~
white Aspens
out of sight
white Egret
~~~
Cypress light
spiked and pining
~~~
paying respects
around the lumber mill
procession of Trees
~~~
October road trip
picking haiku
from the breeze
~~~
cloud layers
puzzle piece
the sky
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 2:30 PM UTC
Future Springs
With hoarfrost the sustaining element to speak of love as you mix it with the telling breeze I know the
Measure of your heart its volumes weigh upon my senses to resist a sudden kiss would be to Miss Bliss
The glow surely bestows mountain heights and the texture of uncommon air we are paired together
That all magic of existence we can equally share like the plants that grow close to the water fall that
Cascades without end luxuriant sunlight shine the green tops fuse and make greenest gold the color
Flows through the eye a sigh is heard it copies the surrounding reality and wedges in to the crevice of
The rock one is weak but by taking its place in the rock face it becomes invincible days without end it
Surveys the great deep valley below does it wonder how it would be to cross vistas so grand would the
Delight match what is already being bestowed though beauty would be found you can be assured but
The dryer clime would stress one who always is cooled by the eternal spray and who would want to
Lose moisture and air and sun that perfects life and promotes success in unequal terms you have placid
Dreams that form deep below and truly stream forth water’s glory in sweetest detail they were passing before your
Presence so you do go not only into the valley but at so greater lengths that are unimaginable the
Waters mix with the birds either the water fowl are gliding to a landing or the egret alights its nest
Just above the waters so blue and cool you were the one who blessed and sent it on its way the winding
Day ever refreshed by what comes its way the heights always shares now let us do likewise Happy New
Year
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 12:37 AM UTC
Vieques
Snakes were here by the grace of God, but
knowing Him, He set them down while He fiddled
with an Egyptian plague, forgetting where He’d left them.
The Navy brought mongooses to eat the snakes
so they could relax and shell the sunrise coast in peace
but mongoose got to eat, as any chicken farmer will tell you.
Spain sent Church and State astride the horse, but conquistador and cleric
dismounted to take in a sunset from ***** Arenas while the sea breeze
whispered soft and sweet to a restless stallion and his starry eyed mare.
Ticks in the grass, indifferent to bombs, bitter on mongoose tongue
bloated equestrians each every one, blithe captives of nothing
but the cold blue Atlantic and the turquoise bath of the Caribbean Sea.
Bored by the endless cycle of creation and destruction, inspired perhaps
to beauty or by niggling guilt, God unveiled the egret, elegant in its simplicity
with a taste for tick and a knack for lazy symbiosis.
The Malecón sways with rhythms we won’t bring back in our carry-on’s, a drink
down the road from the old United Fruit Company dock, short stroll to sugar house
ruins, unhurried drivers nodding to afro-son, waiting for horses to make their way.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 7:43 AM UTC
A white egret, slowly treads on marshy land...picking food
unafraid, beside a big carabao that munches grass...
...the tall reeds grow on their own, along riverbanks
........or on wide, unattended, sodden areas
no barbed wires control them from leaning, or sagging
they sway........where the wind goes.
Butterflies, dragonflies, birds
and bees in bright colors, hop on open blossoms
feasting on ripe seeds, nectar, and pollen grains.
and i, am wandering, flying, with these creatures,
perching on top of stalks.....even on carabaos' backs...
i am out there, in the open...swaying with the reeds
while dreams and inspirations spill over.
my mind roams free...no reins, no bounds,
above, and below....or, even sideways,
i inch, and feel my way
through the breathing,
...and the non-breathing...
i am a poet...i write what i feel...what comes to my mind
i follow rules set before me...though, i have
my own existing rules inside me...born with me
an innate knowledge of my limitations
as a person, as a parent, as a writer;
what should...and what shouldn't be,
what to reveal...and what to conceal,
how it is to be compassionate...and
how it is to be indifferent.
i am a poet, still hearing my late mother's voice,
emphasizing..."amor propio" and "delicadeza."
an invisible *** of fresh yellow daffodils,
lives on in my mind...a discretion ingrained in me
a kind of freedom, i opened my eyes to....
Sally
Copyright September 20, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 2:34 AM UTC
A-ngry
B-roken
C-lumsy
D-enial
E-nvious
F-ear
G-reedy
H-umilated
I-gnored
J-ealous
K-akorrhapiophobia
L-onely
M-anic
N-ervous
O-bsessed
P-estimistic
Q-uitter
R-egret
S-orry
T-ormented
U-gly
V-ain
W-orried
X-treme
Y-earning
Z-apped
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
Thanks for another day
Others curse their luck, stale breath
Eventually our enemy becomes our brother
Cancer checkup, another swinging **** who fears his death
To not necessarily sacrifice each and every day for another day
I’m going to go to my grave unsung like almost everyone
Numerous number systems beyond the real
Look one way, from another come the heart’s missed beats
One way out of the mind’s limitations is through another mind’s
contemplations
Another autumn, another election, so aimless and sublime
The white egret ate fish after fish, one then another then another...
You get a limited number of long walks, so take your time
One gives up body and soul but that’s not what I came to talk about
Slug the world and the world slugs back
It was amusing in my youth that God’s finger could move me to another
square
Another duality, a day in the woods, jet passing overhead
I am in favor of kindness and you prefer concentration camps
The slow death of one sometimes makes the sudden ****** of another
To survive only as many more years as there are petals on a randomly
picked (ox-eye) daisy
Another winter passing its calling card in at the window
One day follows another until the last day and on that day there will be
weather
May 7, 2025
May 7, 2025 at 5:58 AM UTC
Have some fun.
Presentation of self.
Afterlife functional illusion.
If your memories don't heart attack or cancer out
or from traffic accident
how will you effortlessly flush them out?
You must give yourself to man
be more selfless.
Do one thing well. Flute.
History final. F is for fiction.
Nature's philosophical partner
afraid, affectionate, forceful, confused!
Within a tradition, fine to know what you're doing.
Polka dots and moonbeams. I'm old fashioned.
Noh, opera, film.
File with business cards.
What's the offer?
Free marketing. Unusual reflections.
Why fight fires, floods?
Hurricanes and other acts of the Father. As for man's
fate, what has this to do with the temperamental, fragile self.
Power failure
just as we were fixing dinner.
The white egret ate fish after fish, one then another then another,
forever . . . .
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
Losing me, that's what you're going to do,
When I'm done,
Turmoil will ensue,
With much regret, I shall be gone,
The egret of much regret, will cruise into the setting sun,
Falling sunset, drowning in the horizon,
As we fail,
Will you appreciate, evaluate what you have lost,
Maybe what I have won,
The sun, will she ever rise again?
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
a mockingbird strips the night
of quiet
opens a portal in my soul
to let what was in out
and
what was out in
to make an exchange of balances
just so does the cave Lechuguilla
**** air through her ******
in the desert near Carlsbad
balancing air pressure
in great ******** puffs that make her moan
like a lover satisfied
or perhaps not
perhaps she groans and sighs
for the **** of her million-year solitude
for the loss of her art-full loneness
perhaps Lechuguilla sounds
to stem the contagion of sobs
daily growing in her heart
each sob feeding off the one before
marking like guideposts
the descent she now takes into oblivion
searching searching
searching for herself
the story of a princess
scratches at the edge of my mind
a princess whose ability was as rare
as the sight of an egret flying against the star-crusted night
she mounted to the roof of her palace
each night there to repose
to light the whole city
with her radiance
everything begins in the imagined
you donned your suit of lights
to woo me from myself
to court my innocence from its cave
now head down pawing dust into fog
I charge bristling and snorting threats
through my nose
you beautiful in light-catching suit
send my barbs like adorned words
into my flesh and soul
I bleed the last of my happiness down my back
into the dry soil
of our We
our glances nick then slide away
drawing more passion
to coagulate in tidal pools at our feet
I cannot be your imaginal woman
I am my own
I speak in wordchunks like charcoal
hiding fire within
I beat my rhythms to music you do not hear
because you have no reck of me
c. 1994/2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 4:53 PM UTC
when the spinning clay
shoots up
between my hands
I squeeze
her neck up
today
to a svelte long
distance Egret like
Swan elegance
decorate her with fine
fine feathers
filigree
moist
living clay
and grasp her all
between
my
human hands
tenderly
I lost the connection
the feel the fire
but put her in
the kiln
anyways
hoping
to rekindle her memory
that is
after all
art
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 9:30 PM UTC