Stay still like a heron
Stay still like a heron in an unfavorable situation,
Later act swiftly in appropriate time and get things done
As if the heron waits patiently with one leg,
Picks fast and seizes the fish.
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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Ballads on Mr. Heron's Election - Ballad First
Whom will you send to London town,
To Parliament and a' that?
Or wha in a' the country round
The best deserves to fa' that?
For a' that, and a' that,
Thro' Galloway and a' that,
Where is the Laird or belted Knight
The best deserves to fa' that?
Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett,
(And wha is't never saw that?)
Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree met,
And has a doubt of a' that?
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
The independent patriot,
The honest man, and a' that.
Tho' wit and worth, in either sex,
Saint Mary's Isle can shaw that,
Wi' Dukes and Lords let Selkirk mix,
And weel does Selkirk fa' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
The independent commoner
Shall be the man for a' that.
But why should we to Nobles jouk,
And is't against the law, that?
For why, a Lord may be a gowk,
Wi' ribband, star and a' that,
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
A Lord may be a lousy loun,
Wi' ribband, star and a' that.
A beardless boy comes o'er the hills,
Wi' uncle's purse and a' that;
But we'll hae ane frae mang oursels,
A man we ken, and a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
For we're not to be bought and sold,
Like naigs, and nowt, and a' that.
Then let us drink-The Stewartry,
Kerroughtree's laird, and a' that,
Our representative to be,
For weel he's worthy a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
A House of Commons such as he,
They wad be blest that saw that.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Gradually, It Happens
gradually we like how dead things rise from their ashes
managing to take a shape like the neck of the heron
the white long neck of the heron
amidst the green rice fields just below a crumple of blue clouds
and then the sun slowly rises from the hills that look like
breasts of a woman just awaking from a very deep sleep
beside her lover who is too drunk from the many jugs
of happy moments which he drank....
last night, it was raining so hard
but they never noticed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Heron
In shallow water
A heron waits for its prey
Standing on one foot!
poem by Asif Andalib
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Hungry heron stalks
among the reeds and shoreline
searching for a fish
haiku by Lorraine Margueritte Gasrel Black
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Heron
Heron said and
Fish heard.
Nobody knows
What it rendered.
Nothing is in complete form
Clarified the sky
And the cloud
Stroke it out.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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With Me Now Just A Memory
With me now just a memory but memories with us remain
In the heavy rains of late Winter the female frog lay in the drain
Her eggs like crystal lumps of jelly from which her tadpoles hatched out
And all around their watery home they wriggled all about.
For to grow into adult frogs not many would survive
For many tadpoles had to die for one predator to stay alive
To the taste buds of a grey heron a plump tadpole tasted sweet
As one of the favourite water dwelling things that a heron loves to eat.
But a few avoided the sharp beak of the lanky bird of prey
For to grow into adult frogs for that is Nature's way
Of insuring species survival in such Nature a huge part does play
Survival of the fittest as some are known to say.
With me now just a memory of times that are long gone
And though the past it is behind us the memories live on
And I retain the memory of the croaking of the frog
On their breeding time in late Winter in the drain beside the bog.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Falconer Of God
I flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying.
I said, “Wait on, wait on, while I ride below!
I shall start a heron soon
In the marsh beneath the moon—
A strange white heron rising with silver on its wings,
Rising and crying
Wordless, wondrous things;
The secret of the stars, of the world’s heart-strings
The answer to their woe.
Then stoop thou upon him, and grip and hold him so!”
My wild soul waited on as falcons hover.
I beat the reedy fens as I trampled put.
I heard the mournful loon
In the marsh beneath the moon.
And then, with feathery thunder, the bird of my desire
Broke from the cover
Flashing silver fire.
High up among the stars I saw his pinions spire.
The pale clouds gazed aghast
As my falcon stooped upon him, and gript and held him fast.
My soul dropped through the air—with heavenly plunder?—
Gripping the dazzling bird my dreaming knew?
Nay! but a piteous freight,
A dark and heavy weight
Despoiled of silver plumage, its voice forever stilled—
All of the wonder
Gone that ever filled
Its guise with glory. O bird that I have killed,
How brilliantly you flew
Across my rapturous vision when first I dreamed of you!
Yet I fling my soul on high with new endeavor,
And I ride the world below with a joyful mind.
I shall start a heron soon
In the marsh beneath the moon—
A wondrous silver heron its inner darkness fledges!
I beat forever
The fens and the sedges.
The pledge is still the same—for all disastrous pledges,
All hopes resigned!
My soul still flies above me for the quarry it shall find!
poem by Stephen Vincent Benet
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The Chirping Birds Of The Town
seldom do they come here
because most of the trees are already cut and there is no place
for the seasons of nests
but here comes a blue heron with a white breast and a black beak
perched upon a palm
alone and we find ourselves staring at each other
there is no pond here and there is therefore no fish
there is nothing that shall make it stay
and so after a while it flies away until it becomes a mere dot
and then gone
and what is left is the mirage of distance
on a reflection, i am more like it when you are not with me
in this journey
this search of place where i could have sung a song
the one that you like
when you first gave me that hug that kiss.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Giving the carabao feelings of wings
The carabaos are grazing again
It is summer and
The white herons are teeming
On the green fields
Some take the usual sight
Of friendship
The white heron on top
Of the carabao’s back
They are so close I wonder
If there is this familiarity
Between them
Their friendship has lasted
For centuries
They say the white herons
Feed on carabao's lice
And to repay the kindness
The carabao gives the bird
Its free ground ride
I disagree totally
There is no pecking that I see
And there is no distance
Whatsoever that the carabao gives
This is friendship, this is a picture
Of friendship, the heron is giving
The carabao the feel of its white wings.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On THE PLURaLITY oF WORlDS NINETEEN NINETY-ONE
Phoenix in Vietnamese
Echoes of your syllables
Closer to your milky Schimmel
A stork or a heron
Pollux waits in and out
Of white shadows
In the temple of your sun
Melting glaciers
Whispering
Four letters
Sugary and wooly
Like a panda out the water
Ovoid shape
At your leisure
Natural number
poem by Nicolas Grenier
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One who waits patiently will catch a big fish.
January Treat
The mid January day began clear and bright
To the Delaware Bay we took our flight
Down to the shores of Fortescue
With it’s sky and sea of sparkling crystal blue
Walked on the beach, brisk and cold
Collected sea glass, tumbled and rolled
In the air seagulls cry
How fast the time passed by
Left for home before fast falling night
A Blue Heron took it’s homeward flight
The day ended with a surprise
Hundreds of Robins flew before our eyes
In a field they began to sing
“We just arrived to welcome Spring! ”
poem by Nancy Chambers
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Or The Mail Man
Builders for these castles get their hands wet
And then sculpt the necks of parapets and heron:
They burn around the shoulders
Growing freckles like periwinkles as they step
Over the jelly-fish—
Their mother leaving them to be watched over by
The sea so she could go
Shopping with another man or the mail man—
In its innuendo the sun will burn,
The cloud with disappear—and the birds will turn.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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My Love and I
My love and I live by the sea
Where the sea breeze flows in your face
Where the the fish dance
In there mind with thee
And the crabs go flamenco with there clicks
I know somtimes my love waits for me
I know that she waits for me by the sea
My love somtimes goes cold on me
but i warm her up with a bit of sauce
I know my love waits for me
I know that she waits for me by the sea
My love and I often sit
Comfortably in are seats
In the front room
watching TV
Documentries gulore
And game shows in
I know that my love waits for me
I know that she waits for me by the sea
My love who waits for me by the sea
She is Fish and Chips
YOU SEE! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
poem by Joe Sissens
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The Birds
the birds, sparrows and robins
and some herons
are flying on the blue sky
you watch them
a robin comes near you
and makes a stare
the white heron glides
past your face and flies
away without much ado
a sparrow feeds on your palm
and after all the grains are
consumed it goes its way
north and finally the kingfisher
which is late tries to give
you its catch, a small fish.
you see the difference
and then you go south,
i mean, the difference,
towards another direction,
that one that gives and not
the one that takes,
the one that thinks about
others
and not more about oneself.
you are supposed to be that
a giver not a taker.
one bird has shown you
with a very small fish and
that was enough to feed
you in another long and lonely
journey: south.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A flash of lightning:
Into the gloom
Goes the heron's cry.
haiku by Matsuo Basho
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The heron blames the water because he cannot swim.
Though the heron flied high the falcon kills it.
He would cheat the heron of her egg, though her two eyes were fixed on him.
Scottish Gaelic proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lonely winter afternoon
When the heron's cry
did not echo in the mist,
did the cliffs hear it?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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