Down At The Marsh
Down at the marsh
weavers rock up and down,
down at the marsh
your lips are soft against mine
when a big dog barks far away
and your right knee has lost some skin
down at the marsh.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Remembrance
As a child I saw the sun
hanging over the marsh,
when it caught the first red rays.
In that marsh land
long-tailed widow-birds
glided deeper into the reeds.
Plover’s pretending
to have broken wings,
tried to entice me away
from their nests.
In life’s marsh
there were enemy soldiers
that was stone-dead,
while I had hidden deeper
into the reeds.
Groups of enemy patrols
cut past following the river,
to find my comrades and I.
Every time that the sun
hanged new over the reeds,
the enemy became less
and the chance to catch us diminished
and mosquitoes swarmed around me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Marshes
The bog and marsh condemn you,
Eternal is this gain of your few
Who wear a costume of colours,
Inward is the feeling of counsellors.
They advise and lecture on weather
That superbly displays youth and feather.
We are experts too bold of the marsh,
In this is knowledge to drain - so harsh!
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Marsh Land
The nearer I come to the wild marsh land
the more I hear red-knobbed coots carolling
where a swarm of tiny weavers twitter,
rocking and balancing on the long reeds,
cheerfully the meandering stream jabbers
while it shines in the bright morning light
next to the big old hanging willow tree,
where a symphony of nature resounds.
Marsh bulrushes rocks plumed in the wind
that blows softly through the bushes of sprouts,
somewhat blinded by the natural beauty
I wander like a child through all the reeds,
drops of water jet when wild ducks fly up,
with rushes suddenly rocking up and down.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Eastbrook
Though his racing days are over
on the marsh he'll gently graze
where he'll spend his last remaining years
sharing all his days
with herons, skylarks, ducks and geese
from a racing life to utter peace
Small children come and feed him hay
and Suzy grooms him every day
a soft brown horse with gentle eyes
resting underneath the skies
that follow the marsh down to the sea
retirement, peace, tranquility
poem by Gill Moore
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Goblin in the marsh
A Goblin staggers out of the marsh
and he is dirty and full of mud
and stinking he pasts
and walk in the fog
that rises from the water.
There are marsh gasses
that everywhere hangs rotting
and a lightning bolt
hitting to surface
Let’s balls of flame explode
blue, orange and red-blue
behind him
and he laughs half mad
while he walks away
through the mud.
Sniffing he searches
for waterweed, fester, bubonic plague,
arsenic and a snake’s
foaming poison
with the head of a rat
on a green body
and he waddles while he walks
and appears here and there
like a shadow.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Bruises
Bruises smack me silly,
Naveed cries some time for pity,
Then the reality mixes with fiction
And he staggers at the task ahead,
To be reported by the people-in-charge.
My heart stings from dresses and others,
Going into the territory of love is golden.
My heat now sings swearing towards the goal,
Swerving in ways called rivers and mud.
A swamp has allied with marsh,
And a fatal prize is fortunate;
My prizes are luckier then most,
For the marsh is honoured and
Then blessed, liking us instead.
These grazes are not any longer bruises,
And stinging issues command me to state
The facts. I do not know the sense and reason
Of this fact. I do not know.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Hidden watcher. For M'; lady Francesca
Hidden watcher.
The salt marsh stretches endlessly
and forms a perfect habitat
Where migrant birds nest in safety
to brood and raise a family.
Few hunters ever venture here,
because they fear the boggy ground
That’s noted for its treachery.
So most prefer to hunt elsewhere.
Bird watchers come the whole year round.
They only shoot with cameras
and they avoid the boggy ground
They know that rare birds can be found.
In the salt marsh beside the sea.
It is a twitcher’s paradise
They record meticulously
each and every bird they see
The salt marsh lies beside the sea.
As it has done since time began.
A panorama of rare beauty
That is changing constantly.
It changes as the seasons change.
I does not stay the same for long.
Nature can and does rearrange
to make the landscape look quite strange.
An eerie place and frightening
when covered by a dense sea fret.
When you can see and hear nothing
above the roar of waves breaking.
There’s nowhere I’d prefer to be
Than esconced in my favourite hide.
To watch the birds in secrecy
I can see them They can’t see me.
Sunday,15 August 2010.
Http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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* * *
When I think of you,
fireflies in the marsh rise
like the soul’s jewels,
lost to eternal longing,
abandoning my body.
poem by Izumi Shikibu
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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In My Childhood Days I Pick Lilies In The Marsh [2]
In my childhood days I picked lilies in the marsh
where the highway now runs almost into eternity
while only cars do pass on the road.
Laid dry, barren and destroyed is the marsh land that I did love
and selfish gain circles out wider while nature is distorted
where the highway now runs almost into eternity
and the plain is full of offices and factories that pushed it aside
and I search for something that can keep the untouchedness
and selfish gain circles out wider while nature is distorted,
there is smoke that like a blanket folds from above over everything
while on the sidewalk there is a marigold
and I search for something that can keep the untouchedness
and notices a flower that grows wild right through the concrete,
and I see no coots or plovers calling
while on the sidewalk there is a marigold
amongst the crowding of people of the one or other group.
In my childhood days I picked lilies in the marsh
and I see no coots or plovers calling
while only cars do pass on the road.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Probably having fallen in love with music and movies at a young age and then first learning about writing by kind of following the path of writers like Dave Marsh and Lester Bangs and being a rock journalist.
quote by Cameron Crowe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In defeat, unbeatable; in victory, unbearable.
quote by Edward Marsh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am less concerned about them than about the croaking frogs in the marsh.
The buffalo does not wander from the marsh where it was born.
Agusan Marshland
pregnant
the moon
tonight
rests upon
the marsh
land.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The world is like a little marsh filled with mint and white hawthorn.
quote by Mary MacLane
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At Evening Time There Shall Be Light
THE day was wild with wind and rain,
One grey wrapped sky and sea and shore,
It seemed our marsh would never again
Wear the rich robes that once it wore.
The scattered farms looked sad and chill,
Their sheltering trees writhed all awry,
And waves of mist broke on the hill
Where once the great sea thundered by.
Then God remembered this His land,
This little land that is our own,
He caught the rain up in His hand,
He hid the winds behind His throne,
He soothed the fretful waves to rest,
He called the clouds to come away,
And, by blue pathways, to the west,
They went, like children tired of play.
And then God bade our marsh put on
Its holy vestment of fine gold;
From marge to marge the glory shone
On lichened farm and fence and fold;
In the gold sky that walled the west,
In each transfigured stone and tree,
The glory of God was manifest,
Plain for a little child to see!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Le Marais Du Cygne
A BLUSH as of roses
Where rose never grew!
Great drops on the bunch-grass,
But not of the dew!
A taint in the sweet air
For wild bees to shun!
A stain that shall never
Bleach out in the sun!
Back, steed of the prairies!
Sweet song-bird, fly back!
Wheel hither, bald vulture!
Gray wolf, call thy pack!
The foul human vultures
Have feasted and fled;
The wolves of the Border
Have crept from the dead.
From the hearths of their cabins,
The fields of their corn,
Unwarned and unweaponed,
The victims were torn, —
By the whirlwind of murder
Swooped up and swept on
To the low, reedy fen-lands,
The Marsh of the Swan.
With a vain plea for mercy
No stout knee was crooked;
In the mouths of the rifles
Right manly they looked.
How paled the May sunshine,
O Marais du Cygne!
On death for the strong life,
On red grass for green!
In the homes of their rearing,
Yet warm with their lives,
Ye wait the dead only,
Poor children and wives!
Put out the red forge-fire,
The smith shall not come;
Unyoke the brown oxen,
The ploughman lies dumb.
Wind slow from the Swan's Marsh,
O dreary death-train,
With pressed lips as bloodless
As lips of the slain!
Kiss down the young eyelids,
Smooth down the gray hairs;
Let tears quench the curses
That burn through your prayers.
Strong man of the prairies,
Mourn bitter and wild!
Wail, desolate woman!
Weep, fatherless child!
But the grain of God springs up
From ashes beneath,
And the crown of his harvest
Is life out of death.
Not in vain on the dial
The shade moves along,
To point the great contrasts
Of right and of wrong:
Free homes and free altars,
Free prairie and flood, —
The reeds of the Swan's Marsh,
Whose bloom is of blood!
On the lintels of Kansas
That blood shall not dry;
Henceforth the Bad Angel
Shall harmless go by;
Henceforth to the sunset,
Unchecked on her way,
Shall Liberty follow
The march of the day.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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RFID is going to get its technical embedding time it needs as serious players are not going to get involved on a sufficient scale with something that might not work.
quote by Mike Marsh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The springtime of Lovers has come
The springtime of Lovers has come,
that this dust bowl may become a garden;
the proclamation of heaven has come,
that the bird of the soul may rise in flight.
The sea becomes full of pearls,
the salt marsh becomes sweet as kauthar,
the stone becomes a ruby from the mine,
the body becomes wholly soul.
Thought I was free
Thought I was free
of passion, so this melancholy
comes as surprise:
a woodcock shoots up from the marsh
where autumn's twilight falls.